


The Key to the Truth

by orderlychaos



Series: The Cerberus Conspiracy [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Conspiracy, Friendship, M/M, Magic, On the Run, Phil is a BAMF, So is Clint, Teamwork, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone was watching him.<br/>Agent Phil Coulson looked up from where he was pouring three sugar packets into his large cup of black coffee and carefully glanced at the busy café around him.  He could feel the sensation of watchful eyes on him like icy fingers sliding down his spine.  Fixing a lid on his coffee, Phil’s eyes instinctively roamed the crowd for anything out of place as a feeling of apprehension settled low in his stomach.  No one appeared to be paying particular attention to him, but Phil still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.<br/>It wasn’t the first time Phil had ever picked up a tail, but it was the first time he’d picked up a tail in New York during a simple trip to grab a coffee.<br/>Phil couldn’t help feeling something was going on.</p><p>It starts as a simple surveillance mission but when a Senator is murdered and Hawkeye is framed, things go from bad to worse.</p><p>Sequel to Finding What He Lost</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I finally got around to writing the sequel to Finding What He Lost. Things are a bit crazy right now in RL, but hopefully I should have the chapters up without too much waiting between each. I have plenty of ideas, but this is a work in progress, so I hope you can all bear with me. Thank you for reading!

Someone was watching him.

Agent Phil Coulson looked up from where he was pouring three sugar packets into his large cup of black coffee and carefully glanced at the busy café around him.  He could feel the sensation of watchful eyes on him like icy fingers sliding down his spine.  Fixing a lid on his coffee, Phil’s eyes instinctively roamed the crowd for anything out of place as a feeling of apprehension settled low in his stomach.  No one appeared to be paying particular attention to him, but Phil still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

 _Phil, what is it?_ Clint’s worry echoed down the link between them, picking up on Phil’s tension even though he was miles away with his team on their latest mission.  Thankfully, the humming of the bond between himself and Clint soothed some of Phil’s uneasiness about not being in the field with him and the other Avengers.  Clint was a reassuring presence in the back of his mind whether Clint was in the shower or halfway around the world.

 _Paranoia, I think_ , Phil sent back dryly.

He’d been stuck in the SHIELD offices for the last three days and the inactivity was beginning to grate on Phil’s nerves.  He might have been back from his enforced medical leave, but Fury was refusing to let him out into the field yet.  Phil had anticipated that kind of excessive concern from Clint, not the Director of SHIELD.  As always though, Phil was biding his time; Fury still owed him for his Captain America trading cards and Phil was not above using Fury’s sense of guilt if he had to.

Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to get rid of the sensation, Phil tried to focus past the headache beginning to throb at his temples.  He stepped outside into the cool and wet New York night, his fingers curling gratefully around his hot cup of coffee.  His eyes scanned the street in front of him and the commuters that rushed along, trying to get out of the cold autumn drizzle and he merged in with the crowd and headed back in the direction of SHIELD’s New York offices.  The loud honking traffic and flashing lights aggravated his headache, but Phil attempted to ignore it, his instincts still clamoring as the sensation of being watched only got stronger.

Phil frowned when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket.  Not many people knew the number and almost none of them would be calling him with good news.  With a muffled curse, he pulled it out and flipped it open.  “Coulson,” he greeted.

“Coulson, where are you?” the clipped voice of Maria Hill replied.

“I just stepped out to grab a cup of coffee,” he replied, exhaustion creeping into his tone.  “I’m heading back now.  What’s wrong?”

Maria paused.  “I’m hoping nothing, but there’s something you need to see.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Phil said automatically and hung up.

Dodging around several commuters, Phil risked a glance behind him as he ducked around a corner.  The glance was enough to send adrenaline surging through his veins.  Fighting through the crowd were two men.  Both men were dressed in suits in an attempt to blend into their surroundings, but their bearing and expressions screamed more of military training than boardroom meetings.  Phil had long since learned to hide his own training behind his suits and he knew how to pick it in others.

The men were also clearly looking for someone and Phil was pretty sure that person was him.  He hadn’t seen them in the café, but they could have been waiting outside and watching.  Phil was grateful SHIELD was barely a block away from the café as he ducked his head and walked a little faster.  Hopefully, once he was back at SHIELD he could work out who they were, but the timing had a dark feeling twisting through Phil’s stomach.  It wasn’t the first time Phil had ever picked up a tail, but it _was_ the first time he’d picked up a tail in New York during a simple trip to grab a coffee.

Phil couldn’t help feeling something was going on.

Thankfully, he reached the SHIELD offices without catching sight of his followers again.  He’d taken a few shortcuts and backtracked a little just in case, but both the men and the feeling of being watched had disappeared.  Phil still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.  Stepping out of the elevator on the floor where his office was, Phil was unsurprised to find Maria waiting for him.  “Are you all right?” she asked as soon as she caught sight of him.

Frowning, Phil nodded.  “I picked up surveillance on my way to get coffee,” he said.  “Two men, military background.”

Maria arched her eyebrows in surprise, but made a few notes on the tablet computer she held.  “I’ll have someone look into it,” she said.

“Thanks,” Phil replied as Maria fell into step beside him.  “So what is it?”

She handed him the tablet.  “You know that senator’s aide that was killed two weeks ago?” Maria said.  “We just got the forensics report back.”

Phil scanned the report as they walked into his office.  He remembered the summary of the accident appearing in several intelligence reports and Phil frowned the more he read of the forensics report.  Setting his coffee down on his desk after they walked into his office, Phil used his free hand to enlarge some of the photos.  “They found explosive residue on the car wreckage,” he said grimly.

The official report of the accident had said that Tom Harding’s car had collided with a truck when it had suddenly veered into oncoming traffic.  But a small explosive charge would have been enough to blow the brakes on the car Harding had been driving and cause his sudden swerve, meaning that Harding’s accident had just been upgraded to murder.  “Do we have any other information on this?” Phil asked.

Maria shook her head.  “Not yet,” she said.  “I’ve got some of my agents working on right now, but I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible.”

Phil nodded.  “What about the senator?”

“Nothing definitive yet,” Maria replied, an undercurrent of frustration in her voice.  “I’m running a profile on the aide that replaced Harding, but so far there’s no evidence linking Senator Pierce to the rogue elements of the World Security Council.  Hell, I can’t even prove Pierce _sits_ on the damn Council.”

Phil handed the tablet back to Maria.  “We’ll figure it out,” he said.  “I don’t care how powerful the Council thinks it is.  Everybody slips up at some point and when they do, rogue members or not, we’ll be waiting.”

Maria gave him a small smile.  “You know,” she said.  “If they weren’t such assholes, I’d almost feel sorry for them.  Pissing you off is never a good idea.”

In reply, Phil raised an eyebrow at her, but it only made Maria’s smile grow.  “You’re scary when you’re angry,” she teased.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Phil just gave her a long look, but he’d known Maria since she was a junior agent and she was immune.  A tentative knock on the door interrupted the moment and they both turned to the junior agent standing in the doorway.  “Sir, ma’am,” the agent said.  “Director Fury said to tell you the Avengers are in position and ready to report.”

“We’ll be right there,” Phil said.

 

 

 

Phil walked into SHIELD’s operations center, his gaze immediately moving to the streams of data, live satellite images and mission files covering the screens in front of him.  The operations center was located below SHIELD’s New York offices, with large screens covered most of the available walls, and the air was filled with the hum of junior agents typing away at computers and talking in low voices.  Pressing the offered comm. unit into his ear, Phil was immediately comforted by the familiar sounds of an active mission.  Through the link, the tense but reassuring presence of Clint seemed to expand as if Clint knew Phil was focused on the mission now.

“Barton, what’s your status?” Phil asked, the question automatic after so many years.

“Cold and bored,” Clint grumbled.  “All I’m doing is watching a warehouse… be a warehouse.  No one’s been in or out of that building since we got here.”

Glancing over the screens and streams of data in front of him, Phil had to concede the point.  The mission so far had been remarkably uneventful; the warehouse was as silent now as it had been before the Avengers had gotten there and showed no signs of being used by AIM as reported.  “Stark, have you or JARVIS spotted any movement?” he asked.

Surprisingly, the billionaire had offered to sit this mission out in the off-site surveillance van with JARVIS to keep Dr. Banner company.  Although, he had brought a suit with him in case things went wrong.  Somehow, between the attack on New York and rescuing Phil from that cargo ship in Thailand a month ago, the Avengers had become a functioning, experienced team.  Phil didn’t know whether to be impressed or wary at that, especially considering the Avengers considered him an unofficial member.

“No,” Stark replied.  “There’s been nothing and Bruce and I have already done the Times Crossword.  Twice.”

“All right,” Phil said.  “You’d better move in and secure the warehouse.  Let me know if you find anything.”

“We’re on it,” Steve replied.

Phil watched the movement on the live satellite feed.  Thanks to having the feed filtered through JARVIS, the each of the Avengers were labeled on the screen so Phil could tell who was who.  He watched the labeled dots that were Captain America, Thor, Clint and Natasha moved further into the warehouse.

“Does no one else find this weird?” Stark asked after a moment of silence.

“Stark, I think I can speak for the whole team when I say _everyone_ finds you weird,” Clint replied, but Phil could hear the tension beneath the flippancy.

“Funny, Legolas,” Stark grumbled.  “I meant the warehouse.  For the energy readings SHIELD monitored coming out of that building in the last week, we should see a hell of a lot more people.  Or you know, any.”

Phil was beginning to get a bad feeling about the mission and there was something niggling in the back of his mind from the latest set of intelligence reports that he’d read, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.  It seemed to amplify the feeling that had already been sitting in his stomach after picking up that tail.  “What about the energy levels now?” he asked.  “We’re not picking up anything.  Can you detect anything on your end?”

“No,” Bruce replied softly.  “I haven’t detected any gamma radiation since we got here.”

“There’s nothing else coming out of that warehouse either,” Stark added.

Frowning, Phil turned to one of the junior agents nearest him.  “Do we have infrared capability for this?” he asked.  “I want as much information as we can get on what’s inside that warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” the junior agent replied.

Phil watched the flickering array of pictures from the various security cameras set up around the building and the satellite feeds they’d tapped into.  “Can you see anything from where you are, Cap?” he asked.

“Negative,” Steve replied.  “I can’t see any sign of movement.  Black Widow?”

“I’ve got nothing either,” Natasha said.

 _I can see a box of donuts, does that count?_ Clint said via the link.   _You know, it’s actually kind of sad without the clichéd security guards around to enjoy them.  Think anyone would mind if I ate one?  I skipped lunch._

Phil did the mental equivalent of rolling his eyes, but he knew Clint would feel the amusement through the link.   _Phil, are you laughing at me?_

 _No,_ he sent back.   _Believe it or not, Clint, I came to love your special brand of insanity at about the same time I fell in love with the rest of you._

In response, Phil could feel the burst of warmth and amusement that came from Clint, before the archer turned his focus back to the mission.

There was another moment of silence as the Avengers moved deeper into the warehouse before Phil heard the quiet sound of Clint’s curse. “Oh, shit,” he said.  “I found the guards, but you’re not going to like it.”

Even if Phil hadn’t been able to tell from Clint’s tone of voice that it was bad, the sudden pulse of uneasiness through their link would have alerted him that something was wrong.  “Hawkeye, what is it?” Steve asked before Phil could.

“They’re all dead,” Clint said grimly.  “It looks like they were shot with automatic weapons.  Whoever did this was trained, probably ex-military.”

“I’ve got bodies too,” Natasha reported.  “Mostly guards, but I can see a couple of lab coats.”

The bad feeling that had been curling in Phil’s stomach solidified.  He blinked as one of the satellite feeds in front of him changed to infrared and bit back a curse of his own.  “Sir, the only heat signatures we’re picking up at the site are the Avengers,” a junior agent said.

Nodding, Phil turned to glance at Maria, who’d been monitoring things from nearby and was looking equally grim.  “What’s the status on Sitwell and his team?” Phil asked.

“They’re in position ten minutes out,” Maria replied.  “Want them to move in?”

“Yes,” Phil said.  “Warn Sitwell we’re on cleanup duty.  Someone else got there first.”

 _This is bad, isn’t it?_ Clint asked through the link.

 _I have a feeling it’s worse than we know_ , he sent back.

“Stark, let me know if you or Dr. Banner find anything useful,” Phil said.  “We can have it packed up and marked for transport back to SHIELD.”

Stark snorted, but nevertheless agreed and Phil filtered out the rest of the mission chatter.  He needed to go over the intelligence reports and energy scans again, because AIM had been building something in that warehouse and right now, SHIELD had no idea what it was or who had stolen it.  Phil hated the feeling of being in the dark and not knowing who or what he was fighting.  And what made things worse was that the rogue members of the World Security Council had just the right kind of resources to pull off a raid on an AIM warehouse like this.

He let out a breath as Maria walked up to him.  “Do you see something?” she asked in a voice too low for the junior agents around them to hear.

“No,” Phil shook his head.  “It’s just… I have a bad feeling sitting in my guts.  Like something big is about to happen, but I just don’t know what.  And I can’t help thinking it’s connected to the same rogue members of the World Security Council responsible for my kidnapping.  We never did catch them all.”

Maria nodded.  “Yeah, I have that feeling too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, warnings in this chapter for violence. Also, thank you to everyone who read or commented. You guys are amazing :)

 

The piercing sound of his ringing phone jolted Phil out of a restless sleep. The left side of the bed was cold and empty, since Clint was still on his way back from his mission and Phil missed Clint’s warm presence wrapped around him. Turning his head, Phil glanced at the red numbers clock and groaned when he saw it was barely six in the morning. He’d only left SHIELD a few hours ago.

Phil debated whether or not he should attempt to bury his head under the pillow until his phone stopped ringing, but the call was probably important; when you worked for SHIELD, the phone calls that interrupted your sleep usually were. With a sigh, he dragged himself up enough to snatch his phone off the nightstand and with a muffled curse, braced himself for whatever catastrophe was imminent. “Hello?” he grunted, scrubbing a hand down his face in an attempt to wake up.

“Coulson, you need to turn on the news,” Maria Hill said.

Phil was sitting up in a startled movement before his brain had even finished recognizing the unexpected tension and alarm in Maria’s voice. “What is it?” he asked, suddenly very awake.

“Senator Pierce was shot dead this morning,” Maria said without preamble.

Scrabbling for the remote, Phil turned on the TV to CNN. “ _…The assassination of Senator Pierce has sent shockwaves through Washington. With his long-standing popularity within his party and amongst voters, the Senator was considered by many to be about to announce his candidacy for President…”_

 “It looks like it was a professional hit,” Maria continued as Phil stared almost uncomprehendingly at the news report. “The shooter took him out from a hotel room across the street and then just disappeared.”

For a long moment, Phil watched the news anchor’s grave expression as she went through the details. The Senator had been shot in the middle of the street on his way to a breakfast meeting. With a curse, Phil threw back the blankets and stumbled to his feet. “Do we know who’s behind this?” he asked.

Maria paused. “The Council is saying Barton did it. Under Fury’s orders.”

Phil felt his blood turn to ice at her words. _Clint?_  he immediately sent, trying to hang on to the analytical part of his brain and not let his mind spin off in terrifying directions. _Are you okay? Please tell me you’re safe._

_I’m fine_ , Clint replied, but Phil got flashes of tension and fear through the link. _Hill got me out of SHIELD. I’m on my way to the apartment now._

“I told Barton to find you,” Maria continued. “And I’ve already warned Agent Romanoff to be careful.” There was a pause on the other end of the phone as she sucked in a shaking breath. “The World Security Council is already breathing down my neck on this. I give it an hour before they have the entire New York offices locked down tight. Coulson… they’ve got someone on their way to ‘take charge’. Their words, not mine.”

Phil was already moving, even as he listened to Maria’s voice in his ear. “What about Fury?” he asked. “And how wide a search net are we looking at? Have they involved the local authorities?”

“Fury has disappeared. I have no idea where,” Maria replied. “As for the Council, so far they seem to want to handle this in-house. The shooting is on every news channel, but so far there’s been nothing about who’s responsible other than vague mentions of a government conspiracy. Although, you can bet the National Intelligence Oversight Group will be involved in this. They’re practically the Council’s lapdogs.”

Phil ruthlessly suppressed the fear and panic that roared through him, before his brain kicked into gear and his training and finely honed survived instinct flared. “How deep does this go, Maria?” he asked gravely.

“I have no idea and right now that fact is terrifying me,” Maria admitted. “According to the Council, they have proof that Barton was the shooter and that his orders came direct from Fury, which is impossible, because Barton was flying back with the Avengers from Honduras when the Senator was shot.”

Freezing where he stood, Phil shut his eyes. “The Avengers,” he said. “You know the Council is going to use this as an excuse to disband the Avenger Initiative, if not lock some of them away if they can somehow fabricate a link to the assassination.”

“For now, the other Avengers should be safe,” Maria said. “Stark has them all locked away in his Tower and you know that Stark and his army of lawyers will keep them safe. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Me?” Phil echoed, absently noting his heart was pounding so hard in his chest it felt like it was trying to escape.

“The Council is being manipulated. There’s no way they would have done this on their own and you can bet that if those rogue members are gunning after Fury and Barton that your name is going to be right next to theirs on whatever paperwork they cook up,” Maria said, voicing the words Phil had been dreading to hear. “They’ll be coming for you. You need to get out of there. Go to ground.”

“Maria…” Phil began, but she cut him off.

“I have to go. Please, Phil, just trust me. Get out now.”

Phil stared unseeing at the phone for a moment after Maria hung up before his mind caught up. He tossed the phone on the bed and headed straight for the wardrobe. Grabbing a pair of jeans, he pulled them on before shoving his feet into a pair of worn boots. Spotting one of Clint’s hooded sweatshirts on the back of a chair, he threw it on over the t-shirt he’d worn to bed as he scanned the apartment with narrowed eyes for everything else he would need. The money from his wallet was shoved into his pocket, but everything else was left behind – even if the Council wasn’t already watching them, they’d trace his driver’s license, credit cards and bank accounts within hours. They’d also be tracking his phone, so he left it on the bed too. It would be easy enough to get a new one.

Shoving the switchblade knife he’d grabbed from under Clint’s pillow into his boot, Phil grabbed a bag holding money, another knife and a change of clothes from the top shelf of the wardrobe and his supply of fake credit cards and passports from an unused shoebox. He also grabbed Clint’s spare set of throwing knives and tucked the wrapped bundle into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. Shrugging on a jacket, Phil slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the door, only to pause when he heard a soft knock.

_Clint?_

_It’s me_ , Clint sent through the link.

Phil reached for the door in relief and opened it, the sight of Clint standing on the other side never having been more welcome. Clint was dressed in his usual street clothes of black jeans, combat boots and his battered leather jacket, but he clearly hadn’t had much time before Maria had smuggled him out of SHIELD, because his hair was still wet and stubble covered his strong jaw. Phil probably would have appreciated the sight, along with the damp way his white t-shirt stuck to his well-muscled chest if they were in any other situation, but as it was, all Phil really did was note that he was whole, safe and had the subtle bulge of a gun hiding underneath his jacket.

“Hey,” Clint greeted with a soft smile.

Before Phil could do more than smile in reply, he caught a flash of movement in the corridor behind Clint and moved on instinct. He fisted a hand in Clint’s t-shirt and yanked him inside the room, tranquilizer darts thudding into the wall just beyond where he’d been standing only seconds before. Phil managed to kick the door shut as they fell and he crashed to the floor to the side of the door a second later, trapped between the carpet and Clint’s firm chest. Clint stared down at him for a surprised beat, before a hint of humour entered his eyes and a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Well, that was fun,” he muttered sarcastically.

Phil rolled his eyes. “We should probably take the back way out,” he said.

Fluidly, Clint rolled to his feet and reached down a hand to help Phil to his feet in an automatic gesture. He took it and let Clint tug him to his feet, before Phil reached to the small of his back and pulled out the wrapped bundle of Clint’s throwing knives. “I thought you might like to accessorize to fit the situation,” he said.

Clint grinned. “And people wonder why I love you,” he replied.

Outside the door, Phil heard several curses and the sound of pounding footsteps, reminding him that there were still people on the other side of the door wanting to kidnap them or worse. They had to get out of there, fast. With a bit of luck, whoever was after them wouldn’t have covered the back alley yet and if they could time it right, they might just make it. Heading straight to the kitchen, Phil pulled open the window leading to the fire escape and gestured for Clint to go first. He turned sharply to the door when he heard a muffled order right before the loud thump of a booted foot, before glancing back at Clint. “Time to go,” he said.

Behind them, the shouts got louder as someone kicked open the apartment’s front door. Phil winced at the sound of splintering wood. “Up or down?” Clint asked before vaulting fluidly over the window ledge.

“Down,” Phil answered, following him. “If we can hit the street, we have a better chance at losing them.”

Clint gave a sharp nod just as the shouts got louder as their pursuers moved through the apartment. Darting down the metal stairs, Phil felt the rush of adrenaline surging through his blood urging him to flee faster. He heard the ping of darts ricocheting off the metal around them as he hit the next landing. “It won’t be long before they start using bullets instead of those things,” Clint warned grimly over his shoulder.

“I was hoping we could disappear before that happened,” Phil said.

They hit the landing closest the alley below thirty seconds later. Clint immediately kicked the ladder, sending it crashing downwards. Above them, their pursuers were yelling loudly and Phil could hear the sound of loud footsteps following them down the fire escape. In a fluid movement, Clint swung around and slid down the ladder, not even bothering with the rungs. Phil had a vague wish of being that graceful, before he was hurrying down the ladder behind Clint. Clint dropped the rest of the way to the ground, landing in a crouch, just as two men in black rounded the end of the alley. Mentally, Phil cursed, before he dropped from the last rung down to the concrete beside Clint.

“Hey, stop right there!” one of the men entering the alley yelled loudly.

Looking a little surprised at Phil and Clint’s appearance in the alley, both men surged forwards. Phil held his ground, watching both men with sharp eyes and conscious of Clint beside him. The link flared between them and Phil blinked at the sudden sensation of having another distinct set of senses. Clint didn’t even need to voice what he was going to do, because Phil could read every plan and intention through the link as three of their pursuers dropped down behind them from the fire escape. It brought back shades of memories from Thailand, except this time, they were fighting _together_.

Reacting on instinct, Phil dodged the heavy punch the first of the men threw at him, trusting Clint to have his back. Knowing they had to get out of there as soon as they could, before backup arrived, Phil fought dirty. Lashing out with a kick to the first man’s groin as he tried to grab Phil’s arm, Phil slipped out of the weakened grip. He raised his arms to block the brutal roundhouse kick the second man sent towards his jaw in retaliation, before catching the man’s leg and lashing out with another kick to his knee. The man dropped with a whimper.

Leaving the man’s attempts to struggle back to his feet, Phil turned his attention back to the first man, aware of every movement Clint made as he dealt with the other three men behind him. The first man had pulled a gun and Phil grabbed his wrist as he pivoted, slamming his hand towards the man’s throat. The man gave a choked cough as Phil jerked his arm behind his back, before disarming him with a savage twist. Phil immediately slammed the gun into the man’s temple, sending him tumbling to the ground. Behind him, Phil knew that all three of Clint’s opponents were on the ground, unconscious.

“You can’t…” the second man in front of Phil began; he’d only managed to roll onto one knee before the pain had obviously become too much, but Phil could see his hand moving for the gun on his thigh.

Clint delivered a brutal kick to the man’s jaw before he could finish his sentence or draw his gun and the man went down with a heavy thud. Clint’s eyes immediately moved to Phil. “Are you okay?” he asked, his chest still heaving slightly from the fight.

Phil nodded, tucking the stolen gun into the waist of his jeans at the small of his back and covering it with his jacket. “I’m fine,” he replied, even though he was pretty sure Clint could tell that through the link anyway.

Nodding towards the entrance to the alley and the street beyond, Phil forced himself to take deep breathes to calm his pounding heart as they headed towards it. Unconsciously, his hand reached out to touch Clint’s forearm in reassurance, because Phil could see the same trace of unease reflected in Clint’s gaze as he was sure was in his. It rippled along the link as well, along with Clint’s deep confusion at what was going on.

Phil glanced up at the fire escape, but he couldn’t see any more of the men that had been after them. Either he and Clint had dealt with all of them for now, or the remaining men had retreated inside the apartment building, but regardless, Phil wanted to disappear while they still had the chance. Cautiously glancing around when they reached the entrance to the alley, Phil paused to take another deep, calming breath. “I think we’re good,” Clint whispered close to his ear.

Slipping into the beginnings of the early morning crowd, Phil casually reached behind him to pull up the hood of the sweatshirt he wore beneath his jacket. He hunched his shoulders a little as well, trying to change his posture into something less noticeable. Beside him, Clint zipped up his leather jacket over his white t-shirt and tucked his hands into his pockets, his sharp gaze still moving over the street and buildings around him. Stealthily, Phil reached out and snagged a scarf from a man’s coat pocket as a man walked passed them, before handing it to Clint. Clint wrapped it around his neck and lower face, the cold weather working in their favour.

Phil risked a glance behind them, just as two men ran out of the alley behind the apartment building. Phil felt Clint instantly pull them both into a nearby doorway, hiding them partially from view. Clint crowded closer, pushing Phil more firmly against the side of the doorway, until Phil could feel Clint’s warm, hard body along the front of his. Clint gave him a smirk, his hands resting on either side of Phil’s head, but Phil could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “Phil, what the hell is going on?” he asked, his warm breath brushing against Phil’s cheek and the side of his neck.

“I picked up a tail going out for coffee yesterday,” Phil replied just as quietly. “One of the men following me was one of the men you knocked out in the alley.”

“No… I mean, Hill didn’t have a chance to explain much,” Clint said, his eyes flicking to Phil’s, before the glanced away to scan the street again. “Why are people after us? And why can’t SHIELD help?”

Blinking with a little surprise, Phil carefully watched Clint’s face. He’d expected the other man to have used the link between them to find out what was going on, but Clint always seemed reluctant to take advantage of the link like that. After Loki and the spear, Phil could understand why, even if he didn’t always realize the depth of it. Loki’s attack on New York was still marked in everyone’s minds and he knew Clint was still dealing with what happened to him and the events afterwards, even if he’d been cleared for active duty by the SHIELD psychiatrists.

Even New York was still only coming to terms with what had happened.

“Just after five o’clock this morning, Senator Robert Pierce was shot dead outside his hotel,” Phil explained as succinctly as possible. “The World Security Council believes the shooting was on Fury’s orders and they’ve sent someone to take control of SHIELD in response.”

Clint’s sharp eyes shifted to Phil’s face. “Phil…” he said, before trailing off as an expression of fear grew in his eyes.

“According to Agent Hill, the Council has proof that you were the one that pulled the trigger,” Phil continued, his hands sliding underneath Clint’s leather jacket in comfort.

“Jesus,” Clint said, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning down to rest his forehead against Phil’s.

“And don’t even think about it,” Phil said, not needing the link to know what Clint was thinking. Clint blinked open his eyes to look at him. “Even if there wasn’t a high probability the Council was after me too, I wouldn’t be leaving you to deal with this alone,” he added. He paused, running a hand reassuringly along Clint’s back. “Natasha’s already been warned and you know she’s smart enough and deadly enough that no one’s going to be able to find her if she doesn’t want them to.”

Clint watched him for another moment, before his eyes slid back to watch everyone around them. “We should move,” he said, stepping back and curling a hand around Phil’s arm.

Phil didn’t resist as Clint pulled him back out onto the street. Instead, he just nodded and let Clint draw him deeper into the rush of people and away from their apartment. Behind them, two big black sedans screeched to a halt outside the apartment building. Several stone-faced men got out, one talking rapidly into a radio, but Phil was too far away to hear what the man was saying. He picked up his pace a little, his eyes never quiet staying still as he scanned the streets around them for threats, knowing Clint was doing exactly the same thing beside him, and with the ease of training and experience they disappeared into New York’s morning rush.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long, guys! RL intruded :(

 

“So what do we do now?”

Phil felt Clint press closer to him on the crowded train, his voice pitched low as he spoke directly into Phil’s ear.  After making sure none of the men from the apartment building had been following them, they’d headed straight for the subway to lose themselves in the beginnings of the business rush and put as much distance between them and their pursuers as possible.

Raising an eyebrow, Phil glanced at Clint and wondered why he hadn’t spoken through the link.  It was true that they rarely used it when they were standing next to each other, but something was telling Phil it was something more than that, particularly given their need for caution at being overheard.  He reached out, sliding a hand underneath Clint’s jacket and felt the small tremors moving through the archer’s frame.  Concerned, Phil glanced up at Clint’s face and saw his blue eyes were still darting warily over the crowd and his grip on the back of a nearby seat was white-knuckled.  This was hardly the first time Clint had been on the run from the authorities, even inside the US, and he was too seasoned a SHIELD agent to be letting this unnerve him so much.

“Clint, what is it?” Phil asked, moving even closer.

When Clint leaned more of his weight against him, Phil knew he was right in thinking that the reason Clint wasn’t using the link was because he needed the physical reassurance of touch more than he needed the mental one.  Clint was a tactile person, but because of his childhood, he rarely let himself show it; usually Phil, Natasha and Clint’s bow were the only things Clint indulged in touching.

“I’m fine,” Clint replied softly.  “It’s just…”

Clint took a deep breath and forced a smile.  “I guess SHIELD’s making me soft,” he said.  “I never expected something like this.”

With a flash of insight, Phil realized the Council blaming Clint for the shooting, no matter how untrue, hit too close to home for Clint.  The wounds Loki had inflicted were still too raw.  Inwardly, Phil vowed to take the Council _apart_ for this.  “Neither did I,” Phil said.  “I knew it was only a matter of time before the rogue elements of the Council tried again, but I never thought they’d be so direct.”

“It’s not your fault, Phil,” Clint said.

Phil offered him a wry smile in reply.  Beneath his hand, he could feel the fine tremors fading and Clint’s face had lost its caged expression.  Catching sight of the stop they were pulling into, Phil gave Clint a nudge.  “Come on,” he said.  “We need to make a phone call.”

“I thought we couldn’t contact SHIELD?” Clint whispered to him as they exited the train.

“It’s not SHIELD I’m worried about,” Phil replied.  “It’s Stark.  Someone has to warn him not to do something stupid.”

 

 

Finding a phone wasn’t hard.  Clint’s sleight of hand and dislike of assholes soon netted them a phone, an extra two hundred bucks and Clint’s unrepentant grin.  Finding a quiet place to have a conversation was a bit harder.  Phil eventually chose a small diner off 21st street because he wanted to keep an eye on the news.  He and Clint carefully settled into a booth towards the back of the diner with a couple of coffees, neither of them feeling hungry enough to eat.

Phil dialled Stark’s number from memory, part of him hoping Stark hadn’t heard the news yet, but knowing he probably had.  “Who is this?” Stark’s agitated voice demanded when the phone was picked up.

“It’s Agent Coulson,” Phil said.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes when Clint smirked, the call on speakerphone so they both could hear.  Thankfully, the diner was quiet enough that there was no one around them close enough to listen in.  “Coulson?” Phil heard Steve Rogers ask in the background.  “Where is he?  And does he have any idea what’s happened to Clint?”

“Coulson!” Stark said, his voice full of relief.  “Damn it, we’ve been trying to call you for over an hour!”

“I left my phone at my apartment so we couldn’t be tracked,” Phil answered Stark in a low voice.

“Tracked?  Shit,” Stark said.  “Where are you?  Hill’s gone nuts and Fury’s disappeared.  And the World Security Council is saying that Barton’s wanted for killing that Senator that was shot this morning, which is bullshit.”  Stark paused for a minute and Phil could hear him taking a deep breath.  “Barton’s safe, right?  You know where he is?”

“I’m right here, Stark,” Clint said quietly.

“Thank God,” Stark muttered.

Phil let out a long breath of his own.  “I don’t know much more than you do,” he said.  “Agent Hill called me this morning and told me about the shooting.  According to her, the World Security Council has proof that Fury authorized the whole thing and that Clint is the shooter, but I have no idea what kind of proof it is.  She also said the Council was sending someone in to take control of SHIELD.”

“Okay, that does not sound like a good thing,” Stark said.  “Can the Council do that?”

“Considering Fury is implicated in a plot to kill a US Senator?” Clint said grimly.  “Yeah, they can.”

“The man they probably sent is someone called Max Townsend,” Phil told Stark.  “He’s head of the National Intelligence Oversight Group.”

“And let me guess… he’s not to be trusted?” Stark said, his tone aiming for dry and sarcastic, but not quite getting there.

“No,” Phil answered.  “Townsend is ruthless, driven and has hated SHIELD ever since he learned we existed.”

“So what does that mean?” Steve’s more subdued voice asked.

Phil glanced up to watch Clint.  His expression was grim and his eyes were worried as he looked back at Phil, listening tensely to everything Phil was saying.  “It means that the Council has effective control over SHIELD until we can prove Fury and Barton were not responsible for shooting Senator Pierce,” he said.

Stark swore.  “Right,” he said.  “You two need to head back to the Tower immediately.  Once you get here, we can…”

“No,” Phil interrupted.  “It’s too dangerous.  If Townsend is trying to clean up this mess for the Council, he’s going to be throwing every resource he has into finding Clint and me.  If we turn up at Stark Tower, he’ll start going after you and the other Avengers.”

“Phil,” Clint said softly.  “You can still head to the Tower.  They’re not hunting you yet.”

Phil sent him a level look.  “I told you I wasn’t leaving you alone to deal with this, Clint, and I _meant_ it.”

“Are you kidding?” Stark demanded.  “The Council and whoever this Townsend are looking for you and you’re out there on your own.  I know you’re both supposed to be super scary badasses and all…”

“Right now they’re only looking for me and Phil,” Clint said.  “If we head to the Tower, it will do more damage than good.  So, we make sure to lead Townsend and anyone else looking for us on a merry chase.”

Phil smiled faintly at Clint, pleased that the archer was sounding a bit more like his usual self, before he glanced up at the TV hanging above the diner’s counter.  He winced when he saw a familiar face on the news.  “We have another problem right now,” he said gravely.  “Stark, you might want to turn on CNN.”

“What?  Why?” Stark said, but Phil heard him telling JARVIS to turn it on anyway.

On the news, Phil watched Senator Stern giving an interview.  He couldn’t hear the words, but from the caption and the smug expression on the bastard’s face, he knew it wasn’t good for the Avengers.  Stark’s curse confirmed it.  “Shit,” Stark said.  “Please tell me Stern isn’t involved in this.”

“I doubt he’s on the Council, but he could have links to the rogue group manipulating it,” Phil said.  “Or he could just be trying to get back at you, Stark.  Either way, this means that you and the rest of the Avengers need to stay at Stark Tower.  No one can touch you as long as you stay publically visible.”

“What about you and Clint?” Steve asked.

Phil sighed.  “Right now, Clint and I need to get out of the US.  Even if Townsend is using SHIELD resources to look for us, it won’t be long before he starts circulating our photos to the local authorities,” he said.

“And what?  You’re just going to magically disappear across a border or halfway around the world?” Stark said.  “If they’re looking for you as hard as you say, your photos are already going to be at every airport and bus station for a hundred miles.”

“There are other ways to get across borders, Stark,” Phil said, his lips curving in a slight smirk despite the circumstances.

“And then what?” Steve asked.

“Then we figure out who is manipulating the Council into believing that Clint shot Senator Pierce,” Phil said firmly.  “And clear his name.”

“Wouldn’t that be easier to investigate by staying in America?” Steve asked.

Clint shook his head, even though only Phil could see it.  “The shooter will already have left the country,” he said.

“Are you sure about that?” Stark asked.

“If it had been me, that’s what I would have done,” Clint said simply.

Stark snorted.  “If you two are going to be playing Sherlock and Watson while you zigzag around the world, we’re going to need a way of getting into contact with you that can’t be tracked,” he said, before he let out a long breath.  “And before you say anything, Coulson, we’re going to need a way of passing information to you as we find it.”

“Stark,” Phil said at the same time Steve said, “Tony.”

“No,” Stark cut them both off.  “Coulson and Clint are going to need information that only SHIELD and the Council have right now.  Someone has to get it for them.  And Coulson’s right.  The rest of us can’t start travelling all over the world investigating this because it will draw all the wrong kinds of attention.”

Phil had to admit that he was impressed by Stark’s analysis of the situation.  It wasn’t that the billionaire wasn’t smart enough to figure it out, it was more that Stark really hated being left on the sidelines, yet he was voluntarily putting himself there.  Again.  Phil was realizing he hadn’t given Stark nearly enough credit.  “Just be careful, Stark,” Phil told him quietly.

On the other end of the call, there was the sound of Stark clearing his throat.  “I could say the same to you,” Stark said.  “Stop stealing other people’s phones.  Don’t think I don’t know that’s what you did.”

Phil gave in to the amused smile that was threatening.  “I’m guessing you have a suggestion about that?” he said.

“Getting my hands on a bunch of disposable phones is easy enough.  Stark Industries manufactures enough of them,” Stark said.  “The problem is passing them on to _you_.”

“Agent Romanoff,” Steve suggested suddenly.

Clint blinked in surprise.  “She’s at the Tower?”

“Yeah,” Stark replied.  “She’s been here since we got back from the mission.”

There were the sounds of footsteps in the background and Phil took the opportunity to gaze around the diner.  He knew Clint had been keeping an eye out for anything suspicious while he talked, but Phil couldn’t help scanning the diner out of nervous habit.  Clint noticed, because he noticed everything, and shot Phil a dry look.  Phil shrugged in reply and Clint wordlessly reached across the Formica table to curl his fingers around Phil’s free hand.

“Clint?” Natasha’s voice echoed through the phone’s speaker a second later.

“Nat,” Clint said, his body immediately sagging in his seat as he closed his eyes.

Phil tightened his grip on Clint’s fingers, knowing how worried the younger man had been about Natasha, not matter how well Natasha could take care of herself.  Truthfully, Phil had worried too because Natasha had become closer than a friend and subordinate a long time ago and he didn’t like it when he wasn’t around to help watch her back, even if she didn’t need it.

“Are you safe?” Natasha asked in Russian, the trace of uncertainty in her voice and the choice of language telling both Phil and Clint how worried she’d been.

“I’m with Phil,” Clint answered in the same language, opening his eyes to stare directly at Phil.  The amount of trust and faith in those eyes was always humbling and Phil sucked in a shaky breath, unable to tear his gaze from Clint’s.

“You both need to watch your backs,” Natasha said.  “Promise me.”

“We promise,” Phil said, also talking in Russian and still holding Clint’s gaze.  “As long as you promise me you’ll do the same.”

There was a pause and Phil could almost imagine Natasha’s eyes softening that little bit, like when she and Clint used to spend long hours sitting on the couch in his office, keeping him company.  “I can meet you at Grand Central Station in an hour,” she said, switching back to English.  “Do you need help getting out of the city?”

“No, we’ll be fine,” Phil said.  “The less connection we have right now to you and the other Avengers, the better.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be fine on your own?” a strangely subdued Stark asked a moment later.

“We have done this before, Stark,” Clint replied dryly.  Hearing Natasha’s voice had clearly helped him recover some of his equilibrium.  “Maybe not in the same circumstances, but we’ve been on the run from worse people, usually with one of us bleeding on the other.”

Phil shook his head at Clint, but an amused smile curved his face anyway.  He remembered all of those missions and while some of them would be ones he would never smile about, he was glad to see Clint regaining his snark.  “Stark, when you and JARVIS attempt to break into SHIELD’s database, try not to get caught, will you?” he said.  “And Natasha, we’ll see you in an hour.”

 

 

Phil tilted his chin down as he entered the main concourse of Grand Central Station, making sure the cap he wore covered most of his face from the cameras.  He wasn’t sure if the Council actually had sent Townsend to take control of SHIELD, but whoever they _had_ sent would have access to security cameras everywhere and Phil wasn’t about to make it easy to find him.  Clint was to his left, hidden among the crowd of bustling people on their way to work, but Phil could feel his humming presence through the link as Clint mirrored his movements.

New York might still have been dealing with the destruction caused by the Chitauri invasion three months ago, but Grand Central Station was as busy as ever and Phil used the crowd to his advantage.  He blinked once at the familiar stride of a woman walking towards him, before he realized it was Natasha.  Dressed in jeans and a baggy sweater that hid her figure, with newly blonde hair pulled sharply back from her face and a pair of thick-framed glasses on her face, Natasha looked virtually unrecognizable.

As Natasha passed him, not even glancing towards his face, her left hand brushed his and she pressed what felt like a locker key into Phil’s palm.  “Three seventeen,” she muttered in a low voice.

_Whoa, shit._   Clint’s curse echoed through the link.  _Is that Nat?  Is she_ blonde _?_

_Yeah_ , Phil replied, trying and failing to hide his amusement at Clint’s sense of outrage.  _She says locker three seventeen._

He felt Clint following as he headed for the lockers, but didn’t see him until Phil had found the locker with the right number.  The key slid in easily and inside Phil found large, black bag.  “I packed you a few extras,” Natasha’s voice said from behind him.

Phil risked a glance over his shoulder and found Natasha standing a little way off looking like she was talking into her phone.  “Thanks,” Phil said, knowing the extras were probably of the sharp, pointed and exploding variety.

To Phil’s right, Clint was leaning casually against the bank of lockers looking like he was typing out a text.  Where he’d gotten the phone Phil didn’t know.  He was also wearing a new pair of sunglasses.  “Can we talk about the fact that apparently Nat is a blonde now?” he asked.

“I’m incognito, Barton,” she said and even Phil could hear the teasing edge to her words.  “It’s a spy thing.”

“You’re _blonde_ ,” Clint replied.  Phil felt like he’d come into the middle of a long-standing argument.

“And you’re about to have company,” Natasha said, her tone immediately businesslike.  “Two men coming in from the south-west.  Probably more elsewhere.  Do you need me to intercept?”

“Negative, Agent Romanoff,” Phil said, closing the locker and sliding the strap of the black bag over his torso.  He glanced behind him to look at her again.  “You need to get out of here.  Clint and I can deal with it.”

She gave him a look in return, before nodding sharply once.  “I expect you to check in,” she said.  “Regularly.”

“If we need you Nat, we’ll call.  Promise,” Clint said softly.

Phil’s eyes immediately moved to scan the concourse, picking up the two men Natasha had already spotted as Natasha melted away into the crowd.  He felt the ghost of warmth as Clint came up to stand closely behind him, almost pressed again his back.  “Townsend’s men?” he asked in Phil’s ear.

“Most likely,” Phil said.

Keeping the men in sight as they searched the busy concourse, Phil let an arm curl around Clint’s forearm and kept him close as they began moving through the commuters in the opposite direction to where Natasha had gone.  They headed for the street outside, rather than one of the many subway platforms, dodging in and out of the people around them.  From the way his hard blue eyes scanned the crowd and the tension in his body, Phil knew Clint was keeping a sharp eye on Townsend’s men.  Phil was doing the same, but as far as he could tell, Townsend’s men hadn’t actually spotted them yet.

Phil kept his face ducked beneath the brim of his cap, his heart pounding in his chest as they hit the street.  Merging into the people on the sidewalk, Phil guided them away from the station and hopefully the men looking for them.  He pulled them around the first corner they came to, Clint unresisting by his side.  “Got a plan for where we’re going?” Clint asked softly.

With a grimace, Phil glanced at him and resisted shooting a look over his shoulder at the paranoia that someone was right behind them.  “At this point, I just want to get away from the men looking for us,” he answered.

He felt himself relax a fraction when they turned another corner and wove through another group of commuters.  When they paused for a moment, Phil watched Clint give the crowd another sharp-eyed scan.  “We’ve lost them,” he said, before those blue eyes turned back to Phil.  “We need to put some distance between us and them to make sure it stays that way.”

Not sure whether Clint wanted a reply, Phil nodded anyway.  “We need a car.”

Clint flashed him the ghost of a smile and despite everything, Phil felt the warmth of it skitter over his skin.  “Give me thirty seconds,” Clint said.

Phil wasn’t sure this was the best place to be hot-wiring a car, but it wasn’t like they had a lot of options right now.  Glancing up at the street at the sound of several curses, Phil suddenly had a better idea.  He motioned for Clint to stay behind him, before he casually walked up behind a man who had just climbed out of a sleek, black car and right into the path of several women, which had resulted in the cursing.  Phil had to admit as his fingers ghosted into the pocket of the man’s cashmere coat, he had about as much tolerance for entitled assholes as Clint did.

Pocketing the stolen car keys, Phil walked further up the street to wait until both the asshole and the commotion had faded from sight.  He felt Clint’s hands pull him over to the side of a nearby coffee shop, right before Clint crowded close and pressed his chest to Phil’s, his hands automatically slipping down to Phil’s hips.  “Can I just say I find it really hot when you’re being a sneaky ninja bastard,” Clint all but purred into his ear, because of course the man known as Hawkeye had seen what he was up to.

Phil felt his lips curve up into a smirk and didn’t resist when Clint bent his head for a fast and dirty kiss.  “I’m still driving,” Phil said when Clint pulled away again.  “Come on, we’ve got about five hours to the Canadian border.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was late afternoon by the time Phil and Clint reached northern Vermont.  Phil stopped at a roadside diner for a much needed cup of coffee and to wait for the cover of darkness before they attempted to slip over the border into Ontario.  Phil knew the area was highly used by smugglers from some of the intelligence reports that crossed his desk, but he also knew that for people with the kind of training both he and Clint had, avoiding the RCMP and border patrols, along with any sensors or camera towers would be easy.  They’d crossed tighter borders than this, usually with people shooting at them and someone bleeding profusely.

Phil looked over at Clint, who was sagging with exhaustion in the other side of the booth.  He’d napped uneasily in the car, but Phil knew he was still tired from the Avengers mission to Honduras.  Part of Phil couldn’t believe it was only yesterday, but that was the life of a SHIELD agent.  During the trip, Clint had dressed for the colder weather and now wore a thick black sweater underneath his leather jacket.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked in a low voice.

Clint gave him a tired smile in reassurance.  “All I need is a couple of hours sleep,” he replied.  “I’m fine.”

Phil nodded and took a sip of his thick, black coffee.  It tasted awful, but it would definitely keep him awake.  “Once we make it across the border, we can stop for a while,” he said.  “We’re not far from Toronto and there are a few things I want to check out before we go anywhere else.”

Looking interested, Clint took a drink of his own coffee.  He grimaced at the taste.  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“There are a few details about Senator Pierce’s shooting that are bothering me,” he admitted.  “Things just don’t quite add up.”

“What kinds of things?” Clint said.

Phil took another sip of his awful coffee as he watched Clint.  Even though he was looking more alert, he was still clearly exhausted and Phil began to wonder when the archer had last eaten.  “You should eat something,” he said, changing the subject suddenly.

“You know, if you didn’t want to tell me, you could have just said so,” Clint said, his tone teasing.

After giving in to the urge to roll his eyes, Phil sent him a look.  “I’m betting you haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday,” he said.  “So eat something.  And while you’re eating, I’ll tell you everything I know so you can tell me what I’m missing.”

Phil hated missing parts of a puzzle when he was trying to work it out, but he’d learnt a long time ago that most of the time, Clint’s unique perspective could help him work it out; the archer’s intelligence and way of looking at things had the ability to see problems in a way Phil never could.

Clint’s expression softened a little.  “You should eat too,” he said.  “You haven’t eaten all day and we’ve still got an hour until sundown.”

With a rueful smile, Phil conceded the point.  Once they’d ordered, with Clint absolutely delighted the diner offered an all-day breakfast so he could get waffles, Phil started explaining.  “Yesterday, Maria showed me the forensics report on the death of Senator Pierce’s aide.  Tom Harding was supposedly killed in a car accident two weeks ago, but the report found residue that suggests a small explosive charge blew out the brakes of his car,” he said.

“Shit,” Clint cursed.  “Someone murdered Pierce’s aide two weeks before Pierce himself was shot dead?”

“It looks that way, yes,” Phil replied grimly.

Clint winced and closed his eyes briefly, following the thought to the conclusion Phil had already made.  “The aide that replaced Harding was the shooter,” he said.  “Whoever it was would have had access to the Senator’s schedule and security protocols.”

Phil nodded.  “Exactly,” he said.  “Which means that whoever is behind this would have the resources and planning to pull it off.”

“You think the rogue members of the Council are behind the hit,” Clint said.  It wasn’t really a question.

“The Council is clearly being manipulated and I don’t know anyone else who could do it,” Phil said.  “And that’s the part that’s bugging me.  _Why_ would they go after the Senator?  What did Pierce do to make himself a threat?”

“You think Pierce was on the Council?” Clint asked around a mouthful of waffles.

Frowning, Phil shook his head.  “Maria couldn’t find any proof that he was,” he said.

Clint looked knowingly at him.  “And you think if Hill couldn’t find any proof that he was on the Council, then there was no proof to find,” he said.  Shoving in the last bite of waffles, he leant back and chewed thoughtfully.  “So what would make a US Senator a threat to a Council he isn’t on?”

“That is the question,” Phil agreed, leaning back himself to nurse his refilled cup of awful coffee.

“Well, the answer’s obvious, isn’t it?” Clint said.  When Phil raised his eyebrows at the archer, Clint just shrugged.  “Pierce found out about the rogue group operating within the Council.  It’s why they took such a risk in taking him out.”

Phil blinked.  Clint’s answer made a hell of a lot of sense.  “But how the hell would Pierce find out about the Council, let alone the rogue group operating within it?” he asked, frowning.  “Not even Fury knows the identity of any of the members of the Council.”

“How is your department,” Clint said with a smirk.  “I’m just here to tell you what you’re missing, remember?”

Huffing, Phil opened his mouth to tell Clint that he wanted to find somewhere with internet access on the Canadian side of the border, when a group of three men entering the diner caught his attention.  Like the men at the apartment and then Grand Central Station, the men entering the diner were clearly trained professionals.  Phil sank lower into the booth, trying to be inconspicuous and his mind was already planning exit strategies, but he needn’t have.  One of the men gave the diner a cursory scan, but the other two headed straight for the counter and none of them spotted Clint and Phil.

_Townsend’s men?_ Clint asked.

_I guess so,_ Phil replied.  _But they don’t seem to be actually looking for anyone._

The men settled on stools at the counter and gave their orders.  Once the waitress had moved away, the shortest of the three gave a disgusted sigh.  “Why are we stuck in the back-end of Vermont again?” he complained, his voice almost whining.

The man to his left took a drink of coffee and made a disgusted expression.  “Because even though that bastard Townsend now has an entire covert organization at his fingertips, he still lost Hawkeye, that’s why,” he replied.

“And because the boss is pissed at you, Monroe,” the third man added.

_Townsend_ does _have control of SHIELD_ , Clint sent, his thoughts carrying a wave of worry and the urge to flee.

_What worries me more is that Townsend_ isn’t _the one calling the shots_ , Phil sent back.  _There’s someone else involved._

“Why do we want to catch this Hawkeye dude anyway?” Monroe continued at the counter.

“Because if he’s in our hands, he can’t go around contradicting anything we accuse him of,” the third man said; Phil was beginning to suspect he was in charge.  “That being said, the boss would prefer Hawkeye dead in a shallow grave somewhere.”

Phil felt his hands grip the table hard as fear spiked through his stomach.  He wasn’t about to let anyone get a chance to harm Clint, not after Phil had just gotten him back safe and whole.  Not ever.  The image of Clint’s pale, blank eyes under Loki’s control was still one that haunted Phil’s nightmares and Phil wasn’t about to sit back and let anyone hurt his archer again.

_Phil!_

Blinking, Phil realized Clint was leaning halfway across the table, one of his hands covering Phil’s white-knuckled grip on the tabletop.  Both Clint’s face and his thoughts were filled with concern and more than a little fear, and with a jolt of shock, Phil saw all the silverware on the table was pulsing with faint blue energy and shaking slightly.  Almost as soon as Phil noticed, something inside him unclenched and the energy disappeared.

_I was almost positive this was about to turn into a scene from the Exorcist_ , Clint quipped, but Phil could feel the rush of relief and undercurrent of fear in Clint’s swirling thoughts.  Phil couldn’t blame him.  He felt much the same way himself.

_Come on, let’s get out of here_ , Clint suggested and Phil gave a shaky nod.

Clint tossed enough crumpled notes onto the table to cover their meal and as they stood, Phil noticed the men at the counter were already halfway through their meals.  He wondered how long exactly he’d spaced out.  Clint reached over to grab his hand and tangled their fingers together as he pulled Phil towards the door.  _You know, I’m not the only one those guys want dead.  From what they said, their boss is gunning for you too.  I can’t help thinking whoever their boss is it’s someone we’ve personally pissed off in the past_.

Phil knew Clint’s mental chatter was meant to distract them both as much as Clint’s lack of radio silence on missions and Phil was grateful.  As soon as they were outside and out of sight of everyone inside the diner, Phil pulled Clint to a stop.  This time, Phil found he was the one that needed the comfort of physical touch, but Clint didn’t seem to mind.  “I’m sorry…” Phil said in a rough whisper, resting against Clint’s solid strength for a moment.

“It’s okay, Phil,” Clint said.  “The last couple of months have messed both of us up more than a little, but we’ll deal with it.  Just like we always do.  You’re always telling me that, remember?”

Closing his eyes, Phil stayed in Clint’s arms for another minute, taking the offered comfort and letting the fear and uncertainty fade.  Ever since the dock in Thailand where Phil had somehow managed to throw a grown man through a wall, Phil had been hoping his ‘ability’ would go away.  It was completely unpredictable and supposed to be temporary and Phil had no idea how he was even able to manipulate the Tesseract’s energy when he was _nowhere near_ either the Tesseract or the HYDRA device.  Yet he had, both in Stark Tower with a coffee cup and now at a small diner in northern Vermont.

When Phil finally pulled back, Clint gave him a long, searching look with sharp eyes, before his expression softened and he nodded his chin towards the sunset.  “You want to get out of here?” he said.  “I think it’s time to do our ninja shit across the border.”

 

 

Compared to everything else that had happened that day, slipping across the border into Canada was deceptively simple and aside from smartass comments, uneventful.  Phil could still remember stepping over the broken remains of an old fence and welcoming Clint to Canada because he realized they’d just officially crossed over the border and did he have anything to declare?  Clint had teasingly replied that he should have worn thicker socks, which had made Phil smile.  The weather had turned cold and miserable, so the trek through the dense wood hadn’t exactly been pleasant, but at least they hadn’t seen any sign of the men looking for them since the diner.

Even so, Phil couldn’t help feeling this was the calm before the storm.

From there, it had been a simple trip to Toronto Pearson International airport, because as much as Phil wanted to just find a motel somewhere and sleep for a few hours, he also wanted to put as much distance between them and the people looking for them as possible.  With the passports under alternate identities that Phil had grabbed before he’d fled the apartment, the only problem they faced was working out where to go next.

He’d been a little worried about the ‘extras’ Natasha had included in the bag and the potential to get them through airport security, but when he’d opened the back, he’d realized that aside from a few things hidden under a special anti-visible lining from SHIELD R&D, most of the stuff in the bag was perfectly normal.  Phil had smiled at the sight of a laptop as he’d carefully hidden his and Clint’s knives under the lining.  Now, thanks to the free wifi at the airport, Phil had the ability and access to try and work out what Senator Pierce had found out that had led to him being shot.  It wasn’t exactly SHIELD’s scale of resources, but from what had happened and what he already knew, Phil was starting to put together a fairly alarming picture.

“Okay, I know that expression and it never means good things,” Clint said quietly as he came to sit beside Phil, handing over a large take-out cup of coffee as he did so.

Phil accepted it gratefully and took a large drink before he replied.  “I did some digging on Senator Pierce,” he said.  “You were right.  He _was_ digging into what is probably the rogue element of the World Security Council.  Only it isn’t as simple as that.  Pierce was heading up a committee that was investigating links of impropriety between several political figures and some high-profile businessmen.”

“And you think that the people Pierce was investigating are part of the rogue group?” Clint asked.

“Not necessarily all of them,” Phil replied.  “But it only takes one member being investigated to threaten whatever conspiracy they’re dealing in.  They’ve been planning whatever this is for too long to let that stop them.”

Clint nodded gravely.  “Yeah,” he said.  “You remember that guy Kaplan?  The one we met just outside Zurich when we were looking for you?  He warned us that whatever these guys were planning, your kidnapping and the HYDRA device was only the beginning.”  He was silent for a moment and Phil looked up from the computer screen to glance at him.  Clint’s eyes when he met Phil’s gaze were filled with a depth of ominous comprehension.  “Anderson’s dead, isn’t he?” he said.

“Yes,” Phil said, letting out a slow breath.  “He was killed just before Senator Pierce’s aide has his car accident.  The official report listed it as a heart attack.”

Phil didn’t need to mention that he knew of several drugs off the top of his head that could mimic those symptoms in the right doses.  Clint could probably list them just as easily.  “Shit,” Clint said.  “We’re caught right in the middle of these assholes’ master plan with no way to get out, aren’t we?”

“Caught in the middle?  Yes,” Phil said.  “But I wouldn’t say there’s no way out.”

Clint arched an eyebrow.  “By proving me innocent?” he asked skeptically.

Phil attempted to give him a reassuring smile.  “That’s a good place to start, yes,” he agreed.  “And while we’re doing that, we find out who the rest of this rogue group are, what they’re after and then take them apart piece by piece.”

Blinking, Clint looked at him for a long, silent moment.  Phil felt the brush of Clint through the link and saw Clint’s eyes widen with whatever emotions he felt through it.  Recognizing he was more than a little angry and showing it, Phil cleared his throat and attempted to regain a sense of calm.  Clint reached out and grabbed his hand, fingers tangling for a second, before he let go again.  “So,” he asked.  “Where are we heading?”

“Paris,” Phil replied.  “We’re going to see Senator Pierce’s wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, things have been a little less dramatic and action-filled than I had intended, but I'm hoping that things will soon be about to change :)
> 
> Also, I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone reading. You guys rock!


	5. Chapter 5

“Clint, wake up,” Phil whispered, his hands absently carding through Clint’s hair.

Clint grumbled something into Phil’s shoulder and snuggled closer.  “You can stay here if you like,” Phil offered.  “But I need to get up so I can go and meet Margot Pierce.”

His words had Clint lifting his head and blinking bleary eyes in an attempt to focus.  “No,” he said.  ‘I’m coming with you.”

Dragging himself out of the warm bed wasn’t easy after his first decent sleep in three days and it wasn’t made any easier when Clint just curled his warm, sleepy body back around Phil.  They had both slept a little on the flight from Toronto to Charles de Gaulle airport, but as soon as they’d arrived in Paris, both he and Clint had headed straight for the apartment they kept in the city.  SHIELD didn’t know about it, even after Clint had used it a month ago while he searched for Phil and they’d both desperately needed a shower, change of clothes and a chance to sleep.

Groaning a little as he climbed to his feet and reached for his jeans, Phil could already feel himself going through a mental checklist.  Years of training and experience had taught him to grab everything important so that if the safehouse was compromised or they couldn’t get back to it, they’d have everything they needed.  They would be fine for a little while at least.  It would take time to track them to Paris and Phil intended to use that time to meet with Senator Pierce’s wife and then get out of the city.  But to do that, his first step was to find his other boot, closely followed by a very large, very strong cup of coffee.  Hopefully Phil would be able to grab the coffee at the café where they were meeting Margot Pierce.

Phil slipped on a pair of sunglasses against the bright Parisian sunlight and heard Clint’s soft groan beside him.  “So where are we meeting the Senator’s wife?” he asked, slipping on his own pair of sunglasses.

“A café on Rue Saint-Martin,” Phil said.

Both Phil and Margot Pierce knew the café well; they’d met there a few times back when Phil had been a junior SHIELD agent fresh out of the Army Rangers and Margot Pierce had been Margot Carvier, NSA analyst.  Margot had taught Phil a lot of things that his military background hadn’t prepared him for and it was a stroke of pure luck to find out that she was Senator Pierce’s wife, although perhaps not for Margot.

It didn’t take long for Phil and Clint to find the café with its eye-catching views of the Beaubourg contemporary art centre.  Phil easily spotted Margot from among the tourists and locals at the outdoor tables because while she was fashionably dressed, she was also completely dressed in black.  Her hair was elegantly styled and sunglasses covered her eyes, but Phil could still tell she’d aged remarkably well.  Phil easily slid into the chair opposite her and Clint did the same to his right.

With the same poise Phil remembered, Margot gave no sign that she was surprised by their arrival.  Elegantly, she sipped her tea as Phil gave his and Clint’s orders to the waiter.  “Phil, it’s been a long time,” she said when the waiter had retreated.

Phil nodded, slipping off his sunglasses.  “I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances,” he replied.

Margot paused as the waiter returned with Phil and Clint’s coffees.  Phil gratefully took a sip of the strong coffee as Margot slipped off her own sunglasses.  Her eyes were noticeably red.  “Why don’t we skip the pleasantries?” she said.  She nudged a small bowl of sugar cubes towards Clint when she caught Clint’s grimace.  “It’s better with sugar if you’re not used to it,” she told him.

She looked back at Phil and he could see all the grief caught beneath the skillfully applied layer of make-up and the fashionable clothes.  He felt an echo of that grief in his own chest as the image of Clint under Loki’s control danced through his mind.  “I burnt a lot of bridges when I married Robert and quit the NSA,” Margot said.  “And I lost a lot of contacts when I refused to use my new connections to help them.  The only reason I’m here is because you said you knew who was responsible for shooting my husband.”

There was a faint tremor in Margot’s hand as she reached for her tea cup, but aside from that she was as calm as she’d always been.  “What do you know about the World Security Council?” Phil asked.

Margot set her tea cup down with a clatter and closed her eyes.  “Oh, Robert,” she whispered.  Her eyes glittered with unshed tears when she opened them again, but her voice was level.  “I don’t know all the details about what Robert was investigating, but I know that there were more than a few links to the World Security Council.  A couple of weeks ago, Robert got a tip-off about a group of influential politicians and businessmen that called themselves Cerberus.  I don’t think he could prove it, but my husband this group was dangerous and powerful enough to influence governments and global events.”

Phil felt himself stiffen in his seat as the implications of Margot’s words sank in.  Beside him, Clint cursed in a muffled voice.  Margot must have seen something in their reactions, because she pressed trembling fingers to her lips and her eyes grew bright with more unshed tears.  “Cerberus are the ones responsible for shooting my husband, aren’t they?” she said.

In reply, Phil nodded.  “Yes,” he said.  “And they framed SHIELD and someone I care about very much in the process.”  Phil was hesitant to mention it was Clint, because Margot would probably not prefer to be told she was sitting at the same table as the man who had been accused of shooting the man she loved.

Margot looked away for a moment as she struggled to control her emotions.  “Tell me, Phil,” she said when she turned back.  “Are you still the same stubborn and persistent bastard that refused to believe a senior NSA analyst couldn’t give you the answers you were looking for?”

Phil resisted the urge to smile sadly at the memory of how he and Margot had met.  “Yes, I am,” he replied softly.

Margot nodded once.  “Then you need to find Alexander Moroz,” she said.  “He’s an old friend of Tom’s… Tom was Robert’s aide.  He was killed two weeks ago in a car accident and the whole thing spooked Robert badly.  He sent a copy of everything he was investigating to Alexander.  Maybe he can help you more than I can.”

“Thank you,” Phil said, accepting the name and phone number Margot scribbled on the back of a business card.

“Just find these people and make them pay,” Margot replied.  “I don’t care how you do it.”

Phil nodded.  “Will you be all right?”

Margot smiled a little bleakly as she rose gracefully to her feet.  “My sister is married to the _Préfet de Police_ of Paris and I’m staying with them for a while,” she said.  “I’m think that’s about as safe as I’m going to get for now.”

Phil watched until Margot was out of sight, before he turned to look at Clint.  The archer had been surprisingly quiet through the whole conversation and Phil couldn’t help but worry a little.  Unable to see Clint’s eyes because he still wore his sunglasses, Phil brushed against the link and found Clint had been paying sharp attention to the whole conversation and really, Phil should have known better than to doubt that.  There was also an almost overwhelming sense of curiosity about Margot and how Phil knew her.

“She’s the one who taught you how to be so unreadable, isn’t she?” Clint asked.

This time, Phil did give in to a sad smile.  “Not exactly,” he said.  “I met Margot when I’d only been out of the Rangers for a few months and I was still struggling with life outside the military.  She taught me that sometimes you got more information from not asking questions than you did by asking them.  And that people are always suspicious of a man with a poker face, but not of a man they think they can read, even if what they’re reading on your face is a lie.”

Clint gave a wistful smile.  “I think I would have liked to have met you before you were quite so polished,” he said.

Phil’s smile turned warm and faintly teasing.  “No, you wouldn’t have.  I said ‘sir’ far too much for your liking.”

Clint chuckled softly.  “Phil, you do that now,” he replied.

Rolling his eyes, Phil ignored him as he dug out one of Stark’s disposable phones from the bag he carried.  He eyed the phone number Margot had given him, before glancing up when Clint shifted restlessly beside him.  “Hungry?” he asked.

“Sort of,” Clint said with a shrug.

Phil nodded towards the inside of the café.  “Feel free to go and grab a pastry or something while I call Moroz and arrange a place and time to meet him.”

“You want anything?” Clint asked, already half out of his chair and clearly needing the distraction.

Shaking his head, Phil drained this last of his coffee.  “I’m fine,” he replied.

With a grin, Clint turned and sauntered inside the café, heading straight for the display case full of pastries even though he’d claimed not to be hungry.  Phil knew it was mostly just Clint hating the feeling of inactivity he always associated with information gathering, but it would do him good to eat something too.  Turning his attention back to the phone, Phil dialed the number Margot had given him and made a mental note to check in with Stark and the rest of the Avengers soon.

“Hello?” a faintly accented voice greeted; Phil couldn’t quite place the accent, but there were definitely elements of French and possibly Russian.

“Alexander Moroz?” Phil asked.

“Who is this?” the voice demanded, sounding immediately suspicious.

Phil hesitated for a moment, reluctant to give out his real name just in case.  “I got your number from Margot Pierce,” he said instead.  “I’m trying to help.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I know about Cerberus,” Phil answered quickly before the voice he assumed was Moroz could hang up.

“Keep talking,” Moroz said, but Phil didn’t think he was going to hang up the phone anymore.

“The people behind Cerberus are the ones responsible for the death of Senator Pierce,” Phil said, letting some of his anger and determination filter into his voice.  “And they framed someone I care about very much for it.  I want to take Cerberus down for that.  Every single one of them.”

Moroz gave a rough chuckle.  “I guess I’m the man you’re looking for then,” he said.  “What exactly do you need from me?”

“Margot mentioned you have a copy of all the information Senator Pierce had gathered in his investigation,” Phil said.  “I was hoping you could give it to me.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.  “How soon can you get to Russia?” Moroz asked.

Phil did a quick calculation in his head.  “I can be there in two days,” he said.

“Okay,” Moroz said.  “Call me tomorrow and I’ll tell you where and when we can meet.  And don’t try anything funny.  I’m a journalist and I know about a million ways to make this information public if you push me.”

He wanted to assure Moroz that he only wanted this information, but he doubted the other man would believe him if he said anything, so Phil just agreed then blinked as Moroz abruptly hung up.  Sighing, Phil turned off the phone and put it into his pocket, glancing towards the café to see where Clint was.  If they were going to get to Russia in two days, they’d have to leave soon.

Suddenly, there was a sharp tingling inside Phil’s head and he was gripped by an uncontrollable urge to move as his vision went icy blue at the edges.  He was rising from his chair and heading for the cover of a nearby car parked on the street before he knew what was going on.  The movement probably saved his life.  On the table, his coffee cup shattered into ceramic shards.

_Phil!_

A second later something slammed into his shoulder.  Pain exploded and radiated down his side and the velocity as force of something threw Phil’s shoulder backwards and made him stagger on his feet.  It felt like someone had slammed a baseball bat into his shoulder and for a moment, Phil couldn’t catch his breath.  He felt someone grab the back of his jacket and yank him downwards behind the cover of one of the cars parked on the street.  Dimly, he noted the screams of the people around him as they reacted to the realization there was a sniper shooting at the café.

Shifting to lean against the car, Phil felt a sharp pain rip down his side.  _Shit, that hurt_.  He sagged against the car for a moment, panting for breath.  He felt firm hands pressing against the wound and for a moment it felt like someone was driving a red-hot poker into his shoulder.  He groaned in pain and blinked up into Clint’s concerned blue eyes.  “Jesus, Phil,” he said hoarsely.  “You’re hit.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Phil grunted.

“How about I be the one to decide that?” Clint shot back, tension clear in his voice and posture.

The fabric of Phil’s jacket was beginning to shine dully in the light as the blood soaked into it and Clint’s nimble fingers moved to rip the hole in the material open wider, revealing a deep, nasty looking gash slicing across the top of Phil’s shoulder.  Actually seeing the wound only made it start pulsing with pain and Phil felt his jaw clench.  Clint’s fingers softly probed the skin, assessing the damage, but his face looked a shade too pale.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Phil repeated.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint agreed with a shaky breath.

“You want to worry about the sniper now?” Phil said, his tone turning a little pointed.

Clint glared at him for a moment, before he let Phil move his free hand to press against the wound on his shoulder.  Rising up enough to peer over the top of the car, Clint scanned the area around them.  Phil saw his eyes drift up to line of roofs on the other side of the street and he grimaced, knowing that if the sniper was still up there, he’d be able to cover most of the street and Phil and Clint wouldn’t be able to do much about it.  Compared to a high-powered rifle, the few weapons they had were outmatched.

Knowing Clint would spot the sniper if he tried anything and that they were covered as long as they stayed behind the car, Phil started digging around in his bag for the first aid kit he knew was in there.  It was slow going because every shift of his shoulder sent pain radiating down his arm and side.  Finally managing to find some gauze, he ripped the packet open with his teeth.  Sucking in a breath between his teeth, he placed the gauze firmly down on the wound and carefully taped it in place underneath his jacket.

“Hey Phil, are you good to move?” Clint asked suddenly.

“What do you see?” Phil said, looking up to find Clint’s sharp eyes fixed on something across the street.

“I think I just saw the sniper exit one of the shops,” Clint replied, before he flicked his eyes down to Phil and smiled faintly.  “I also figure we should get out of here before those sirens get any closer.”

Now that Clint had mentioned them, Phil could hear sirens in the distance and they were getting closer.  He nodded, knowing that answering questions from the authorities is not something they needed right now and let Clint pull him gently upwards onto his feet.  Thankfully, Phil’s jacket was dark enough to hide the blood stain and he carefully adjusted the fabric as best as he could to hide the white of the gauze.  “I’m right behind you, Clint,” he said.  “Let’s go get that bastard.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a few swear words in this part

Phil gritted his teeth and tried to focus despite the pain in his shoulder.  Just ahead of him, Clint was moving confidently down the street, his sharp eyes tracking the sniper as they followed him.  They’d managed to leave the café and Rue Saint-Martin just in time before the authorities had swarmed the area.  Phil scanned the crowd in front of them, but he wasn’t sure exactly who they were supposed to be following.  The odds of catching the sniper among the busy crowds of central Paris weren’t good because there were just too many places to hide or run to.  Their best chance was to keep the man in sight and hope he didn’t outrun them.

When a dark-haired man glanced over his shoulder, Phil felt Clint tense beside him.   _Shit, he spotted us_ , Clint sent via the link.

Moving faster through the crowd on the street, Phil tried to keep the man in sight, but he slipped fluidly through the mass of people.  They lost precious seconds fighting against the crowd after the man darted down an alley.  He kept close to Clint and the archer’s sharp gaze and mentally cursed when he spotted the man heading down the stairs to the nearest Metro station.  If he got on a train, they’d lose him.

Suddenly, a woman hurrying towards the entrance to the Metro station bumped into Phil and he had to bite back a curse as pain speared through his shoulder.  Phil sucked in a breath as the pain snatched his focus.   _Phil, are you okay?_

_Yeah_ , he replied.   _We’d better get down there before we lose him._

They hurried down the stairs and when they reached the bottom, pushing through the crowds after the sniper as Phil tried to work out where he was going.  He followed Clint’s gaze when he tensed again and watched the man suddenly merge in with the commuters moving in the opposite direction.   _He’s heading back up to street level_ , Clint sent, clearly as confused as Phil was by the strange detour.

They chased the sniper back up the stairs onto the street and lost more time fighting against the sudden surge of people heading down to the station below.  Phil caught a glimpse of the man disappearing around a street corner and Clint dodging people as he rushed after him. Avoiding an outdoor café, Phil ducked down under a low hanging sign and headed after them, trying to ignore the way his shoulder was throbbing dully.  Cutting across another alley, Phil began to get a strange feeling of déjà vu and he almost stopped dead in his tracks when realization hit.

_He’s doubling back._

Clint cursed over the link between them and Phil could feel the tension in the archer.   _He’s got a car_ , Clint replied.

Moving as fast as he dared with his still aching shoulder, Phil took off in the direction of Rue Saint-Martin, knowing the sniper would have to have a car nearby.  He slowed again as he got close, keeping eyes open for both Clint and any police in the area, but Clint was lost in the crowd. Suddenly, arms grabbed Phil from behind and Phil instinctively struggled against the grip.  He was dragged backwards into a nearby alley, out of sight of the people on the street and Phil didn’t need to turn around to know it was the sniper behind him.

_Clint!  I could use some help!_

Slamming his head backwards, Phil bit back a groan at the pain as his shoulder jerked and concentrated on twisting himself out of the man’s hold.  The man let him go, his face fixed in an angry sneer, and immediately pulled out a slim knife.  He darted forward with impressive speed, slashing at Phil and opening up a nasty cut along Phil’s forearm when he didn’t dodge quite fast enough.  When the man lashed out with the knife again, Phil managed to block the slash and caught the man’s wrist, before slamming an elbow towards the man’s nose.  The move made pain explode across his shoulder and his vision blurred for a second, but Phil felt the satisfying crunch of bone and knew he’d broken the sniper’s nose.

The man staggered back a step with a cry of surprise and pain and Phil watched with a sort of dulled horror as the man’s features  _shifted_  for a second.  Snarling a curse, the man kicked at Phil’s stomach, driving Phil back a step.  Phil blinked, the edges of his vision shimmered ice-blue for a second and he saw the sniper’s face morph and for a moment the man was someone else entirely.  Phil barely had time to recognize this before the man snarled angrily and surged forwards.  He hit Phil in the middle of his chest and sent him flying backwards into the brick wall of the alley.

The impact drove the air from Phil’s lungs and pain exploded in his head.  Phil dropped to the ground with a hoarse moan, his vision swimming in and out of focus.  For a long moment, it felt like someone was stabbing a knife into his shoulder over and over again, the rest of his body throbbing in time from his impact with the alley wall.  His head was woozy and it was a struggle to blink away the blurriness.

“Phil!”

Focusing on Clint’s worried voice, Phil managed to shake off the light-headedness to find the archer crouching in front of him.  “What the hell happened?” Clint asked.

“The sniper threw me into a wall,” he said as the pain faded to less extreme levels.  “It’s not as fun as it looks.”

Clint gave a choked laugh.  “Shit, Phil,” he said.  He paused.  “Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Phil’s body was hurting enough for him to agree without complaint and he let himself be pulled gently to his feet.  “Yeah,” he said.  “That would be good.”

 

 

By the time they got back to the apartment, the sensation of a red hot poker being stabbed into Phil’s shoulder and his increasingly painful ribs were making it more than a little difficult to breathe.  A headache had settled in the back of his head, throbbing in counter-point to the poker in his shoulder and it took more concentration than Phil would have liked to admit to keep walking.  It felt like an invisible knife was twisting in his side and he really hoped that didn’t mean he’d broken a rib.  He groaned softly in relief as he dropped gratefully to sit on the bed.

Following him into the bedroom, Clint stripped down to his worn black t-shirt and watched Phil worriedly.  “Can you get the jacket off by yourself or do you need help?” he asked.

“I’m just a little beat up, Clint,” Phil said.  “It’s no worse than some of the injuries you come back with after a mission and don’t even bother going to see medical for.”

The smile that crossed Clint’s face was quick, but genuine.  “Phil Coulson, the only man who can reassure you and reprimand you in the same sentence.”

Phil smiled back as Clint began moving about the room, gathering the basic medical supplies they had in the apartment.  He watched Clint for a moment, noting that the archer didn’t seem injured at all, before he turned his attention to carefully peeling his jacket away from his shoulder.  He bit back a pained moan at the movement, but managed to tug it all the way off without jostling his shoulder too much.  Phil doubted he could manage to get the sweater and t-shirt off by himself, but he tried all the same, pulling both up by the hem.  Warm hands joined his a second later, helping ease the material up and over his head until Phil was stripped to the waist.

“Thanks,” he said.

Clint just stayed standing between Phil’s legs and reached for the supplies he’d dumped on the bed next to Phil, his eyes fixed on Phil’s shoulder.  Phil gritted his teeth and tried not to instinctively jerk away as Clint removed the gauze and began cleaning the gash.  “It’s not as bad as it could have been, but you’re going to need stitches,” he said quietly.

He didn’t voice it, but Phil heard the implication in Clint’s tone that it could have been so much worse than a gash, a few bruises and a headache.  Phil agreed.  If he hadn’t followed the strange, blue-tinted urge to move when he had, he’d be dead.  Of that he had no doubt and the thought was enough to send a shiver of fear through him.  “I know,” he replied just as quietly.

Phil winced as Clint started to carefully stitch the gash in his shoulder closed with practiced movements.  It was hardly the first time either of them had stitched up the other in the field, but it wasn’t something that ever got any easier to know someone you cared about got hurt.  Phil ignored the sting of Clint’s precise stitches and watched his face instead.  He wasn’t sure what it was about Phil’s almost-shooting that had hit Clint so hard, whether it was because it had been a sniper targeting Phil or if it was just too soon after Phil being thought dead, but something had turned Clint unnaturally quiet and subdued.

“Hey,” Phil said as Clint finished taping some new gauze over the stitches.  He reached out to gently grab Clint’s wrist and tugged him forward until Clint’s knees brushed the bed and their chests were almost touching.

 Instead of responding, Clint just curled towards him.  Phil immediately pulled him into his lap, ignoring the pain associated with the movement.  Clint buried his face in Phil’s good shoulder, shuddering for a moment and Phil just pulled him closer.  A second later, Phil felt gentle fingers tracing down the faint line of scar tissue where he’d been stabbed by Loki’s spear.  The scar looked much older than it was thanks to being saved by Eir and her magic, and Phil almost regretted that he’d gotten to keep it.  He’d always believed scars were proof of what you’d survived, but he doubted that Clint needed to be reminded.   Catching Clint’s hand, Phil pressed it flat to his skin just above his heart.  Clint sucked in a ragged breath and Phil tightened his arm around Clint’s waist.

“So when and where are we meeting Moroz?” Clint asked a minute later.

“Russia,” Phil replied.  “He’s going to give me the actual details when I call back tomorrow.”

He felt Clint nod against his chest.  “Driving or flying?”

Phil grimaced.  “Originally, I was going to suggest we drive.  Townsend will be watching all the airports for people with our description, but I’m thinking we might need to take the risk,” he said.

Clint pulled back from the embrace enough to look Phil in the eyes.  “Because of the sniper,” he said grimly.

“They must have been watching Margot,” Phil said.  “But they didn’t take the shot until after we met with her.  And after I made a phone call.”

Closing his eyes with a muffled curse, Clint dropped his head back to Phil’s shoulder.  “Cerberus suspected the Senator gave his wife or someone close to him a copy of his notes on the investigation,” he said, voicing the same thoughts going through Phil’s mind.  “And that she told us how to find them.”

Phil nodded.  “We need to get to Moroz as fast as we can,” he said.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed.

“We should also check in with Stark and the others,” Phil added.

“Later,” Clint said firmly, as he pulled back and climbed to his feet.  “You should go and take a shower before you stiffen up to badly.  You can call Stark after you’ve eaten something and I’ve figured out if we’ve got anything stronger than an asprin.”

Phil arched an eyebrow at Clint, amused and faintly irritated by hearing his own words said back to him.  He could remember telling Clint virtually the same thing the last time Clint had been injured and refused to go to medical and from the expression on Clint’s face, he knew it too.  Clint pointed a finger at the bathroom for emphasis.

“Okay,” Phil grumbled.  “I’m going.”

 

 

Phil stepped carefully out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist.  The hot water had actually relaxed his sore muscles and dulled the pain in his ribs, but it had done little to soothe his still chaotic thoughts.  Cerberus was more powerful than Phil or Fury had wanted to believe and it was a struggle to just keep out of their reach, let alone figure out what it was they were planning.  Scowling, Phil rubbed at his forehead and the headache brewing there and decided to check in with Stark before he went back to trying to puzzle out what Cerberus was up to.

He dressed quickly into the sweat pants, t-shirt and hoodie Clint had left out for him.  Pulling on the t-shirt hurt and Phil was relieved when he discovered the hoodie had a zip down the front.  “Clint?” he called out as he stepped out of the bathroom.

“Hey,” Clint greeted, appearing in the doorway of the bedroom on silent feet.  “Hungry yet?”

Phil gave a one-shoulder shrug and Clint rolled his eyes with a smile.  “I’ve got noodles in the kitchen,” he said.

“These wouldn’t be the two minute kind, would they?” Phil asked suspiciously.

An offended look crossed Clint’s face.  “No,” he said, frowning.  “They’re mac and cheese.”

Phil laughed softly as they headed for the kitchen.  “You want coffee?” Clint asked over his shoulder.

“Please,” Phil replied.  “And any painkillers if you managed to find them.”

Clint rolled his eyes as he slid a bottle down the kitchen bench towards Phil, before he passed Phil a mug of coffee.  Phil gave him a grateful smile, tossing back a couple of pills with a large sip.  “Are you still sore?” Clint asked softly.

“Aside from my shoulder, it’s mostly just a headache,” Phil said.  “The shower helped with my ribs.”

Clint looked a little skeptical, but refrained from saying anything.  Phil had done some gentle probing of his ribs in the shower and he was pretty sure they were just bruised, not cracked or broken, although his back was going to be turning a rainbow of colours over the next few days.  He’d been injured worse in the past, so Phil didn’t worry about it.  He was alive and mobile and that’s what counted.

Blinking away his thoughts when Clint handed him a bowl of macaroni and cheese, Phil gave him another smile before he followed Clint over to the couch in the lounge room.  He didn’t even realize he was staring down at his bowl and not eating until Clint gave him a gentle nudge.  “It tastes better when you actually eat it, you know,” he said.

Phil shook off his thoughts.  “Yeah,” he said.  He took a bite and had to blink in surprise.  “That’s really good.”

Clint smirked, looking up from where he was dialing Stark’s number into the phone he’d stolen from Phil’s jacket pocket earlier.  “Of course it is,” he said.

The phone, once again on speaker, rang for a while before Stark answered.  “This had better be important,” he grumbled in greeting.

Phil did a quick mental calculation, but the time in New York wasn’t that early or late.  Of course, that didn’t always mean much with Tony Stark.  “We can call back later if this is a bad time,” he replied.

“Coulson?” Stark asked, immediately sounding more alert.  “No, don’t you dare hang up.  It’s been two days without a word!  Since when do you care about whether things are convenient for me, anyway?  JARVIS, tell Natasha to come down to the lab.”

“Jeez, Stark, I think I almost miss you,” Clint said as Phil hid a smile by eating more of Clint’s delicious macaroni and cheese.

“Everyone misses me, Barton,” Stark replied.  “It’s part of my charm.  JARVIS route the call through the lab.”

On the other end of the phone, Phil heard the sound of a door opening and closing, before the soft strains of classical music filtered through.  “Bruce, I do not know how you find Mozart conducive to brilliant ideas,” Stark grumbled.

“Tony!” Bruce’s voice said.  “I told you I’d have JARVIS and Pepper block your use of the lab unless you got some sleep and I meant it!  I swear, I will make Captain America sit on you.”

“Yeah, well, that was before Super Agent decided to call,” Stark said.  “Beside, Steve isn’t here, so you can’t make him sit on me.  When is he due back from SHIELD, anyway?”

Phil couldn’t quite believe he’d heard that correctly.  “You let Captain Rogers go to the SHIELD offices?” he said.  “Without back up?”

On the other end of the phone, Stark snorted.  “You try and deny Captain America anything, I dare you,” he grumbled.  “He had puppy-dog eyes, Coulson.  Like I’d just taken away his constitutional rights or something.”

“Hill promised to keep an eye on him,” Natasha’s voice said and from Stark’s surprised shout, she’d clearly appeared directly beside him.  Phil saw Clint smirk.  “Stark’s right, anyway.  No one would dare to say no to him.  He’d just give him a disapproving look and walk straight out the front door if they tried.”

“So,” Phil said, pausing to take a sip of coffee.  “Do you have any news?”

“Well, we all know there’s no way Barton shot the Senator,” Stark said.  “I tried pointing out the fact that Barton was sitting in a quinjet coming back from South America at the time, but no one wants to listen.  Although Sitwell did smile when I mentioned that if Barton had really wanted to shoot someone, there are numerous people around SHIELD who would have ended up with an arrow in their ass long before this.”

Clint snorted.  “Damn straight,” he agreed.

“The problem is,” Bruce’s more measured tone broke in, “is that Townsend has footage from a security camera in the hotel across the street from where the shooting happened.  The timestamp places it just a few minutes after the shot…”

Bruce trailed off, as if unsure how to break the rest.  “The man on the video looks exactly like Barton and I mean _exactly_.  It was creepy,” Stark said, taking over the explanation again.

“The trajectory of the bullet means that the shot must have come from the same hotel,” Dr. Jane Foster said, surprising Phil; he hadn’t realized she was at the Tower and was willing to help.

“Dr. Foster?” he said.

“Hi, Phil,” she replied.

“After what you said, I rounded everyone up and brought them to the Tower, so everyone’s here and helping,” Stark announced.  “Well, except for Thor.  He had an idea, so he’s gone back to Asgard.”

Phil blinked and shared a look with Clint, not sure how to take that statement.  “I had JARVIS do an analysis on the video,” Stark continued, “to see if someone had manipulated it, but according to JARVIS, it’s genuine.”

“And if it’s genuine, there are only two options,” Clint said.  “It’s either me on that tape, which would be physically impossible since _I didn’t do it_ , or it’s someone who looks _exactly_ like me.”

Phil gave a mental curse as he remembered what had happened earlier in the alley when the sniper had caught him.  “The sniper’s a mutant who can chance his appearance,” he said.  Clint shot him a sharp, questioning look.  “I thought I saw his features change right before he threw me into the wall,” he added softly.

“Fuck,” Stark swore.  “How the hell are we supposed to prove that?”

“And what do you mean threw you into a _wall_?” Natasha growled.

“The sniper is in Paris,” Clint answered.  “He tried to shoot Phil this morning at a small café on Rue Saint-Martin.  Thankfully, he missed, but Phil got into a fight with him when we tried to chase him down.  He’s a little bruised, but still in one piece.”

“This is more complicated than we thought,” Natasha said.

“The good news is that Townsend wants to keep this under wraps for now, probably because he doesn’t want to give Barton a chance to convince anyone he didn’t actually do it, so it’s just Townsend’s men you have to watch out for,” Stark said.  “Oh, you need to give me your secure email address so I can send you some audio files later.  I’ll add the video too if I can get it.”

Phil blinked at the way Stark had jumped topic.  “Audio files from where?” he asked.

“SHIELD’s operations centre,” Stark answered with far too much glee in his voice.

Despite the painkillers, Phil felt like his headache was coming back.  “Stark, please tell me you didn’t _bug_ _SHIELD’s operations centre_ ,” he said.

 “Of course not,” Stark replied.  “Who do you think I am?  I merely _built_ the bugs.  Steve was the one that gave them to Hill and it was _Hill_ who bugged the operations centre.  By the way, this Townsend guy is really pissed at the way you and Hawkeye keep slipping across borders and disappearing.”

Clint grinned for a moment, before his expression sobered.  “You might want to watch your back, Stark.  Townsend’s not the only one after Phil and me.”

“Great,” Stark muttered.

“Do you have any more information about the warehouse in Honduras, Stark?” Phil asked.  He couldn’t explain it, but he had a feeling that somehow the warehouse was more important to things than they believed, particularly since Phil suspected Cerberus were the ones that had broken into it before SHIELD had gotten there.

“Why would we be looking into the warehouse?” Stark asked.

“Because Phil thinks Cerberus are the ones that raided it before we got there,” Clint replied.  “And I figure knowing what they stole would be pretty important right now.”

Natasha cursed.  “Dr. Foster and I will go back over the data,” Bruce promised.

Phil sagged back against the couch, his injuries and the turmoil of the day starting to get the better of him.  Clint slid him a sharp glance and Phil attempted to give him a reassuring smile in reply.  “We’re heading to Russia tomorrow,” Clint told Stark and the others.  “We’ve got a meeting with someone who can hopefully give us more information on Cerberus.”

“Send it on as soon as you have it,” Stark said.

“And watch your backs,” Natasha ordered.  “Oh, and Clint?  You still owe me the good vodka.”

Clint laughed before he hung up.  Sagging back into the couch like Phil was, he curled close to Phil’s side but carefully didn’t put any weight on Phil’s ribs.  “We should get some sleep,” he said, making no effort to move.

“Probably,” Phil agreed.

There was a moment of soft silence between them and the sounds of Clint’s even breathing and the faint sounds of traffic from outside almost lulled Phil into a doze, but he couldn’t help the feeling of foreboding that twisting in his stomach.  Clint’s rough chuckle in his ear interrupted his thoughts.  “Bed,” he said.  “Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, warnings for violence and swearing in this chapter.

Phil came awake the sensation of a strong hand covering his mouth to stifle any sound he made.  His first instinct was to fight, but the link in the back of his mind was humming loudly enough to make him pause.  When he recognized the warmth and muscle half covering him as Clint, he sagged back into the blankets.  _Sorry,_ Clint sent.  _I think someone’s outside and I didn’t want them to know we were awake._

He briefly registered the feeling of Clint’s warm breath on his cheek, before he nodded.  His eyes slid to the clock and the red numbers told him it was five in the morning.  The sky was still dark, as was the room, but Phil could sense something was wrong.  He followed Clint as he silently slipped out of bed and immediately missed the warmth of the blankets and the feeling of Clint curled up beside him.  _Do you know how many are outside?_ he asked.

_Not sure,_ Clint replied.  _But I think they’re getting ready to move_.

Phil shoved his feet into his boots and shoved his jeans and the rest of his few belongings into his bag.  He pushed the pain rippling through his body to the back of his mind as Clint grabbed the last of their stuff and pressed a gun into Phil’s hand.  Moving quickly and silently, Phil paused when they reached the front door and motioned for Clint to sink into the shadows to the side of the door.  Closing his eyes, he gave into the urge that had been pulling at him and stretched out the tickling sensation Phil had begun to associate with his strange ‘powers’.  Like at the café, he didn’t know _how_ , but suddenly he just _knew_ that he and Clint should stay where they were instead of opening the door.

Listening quietly, Phil used his new awareness to pick up the faint sound of footsteps and a muffled grunt beyond the door.  Five seconds later, three large men kicked the door open, semiautomatic weapons pointed towards the living areas of the apartment and away from the shadows where Phil and Clint were hidden to either side of the door.  Phil didn’t waste any time.  Kicking out the knee of the closest man from behind, Phil shoved the second into his team mate to try and throw off their aim before any of the men could pull the trigger.  Using a knife rather than the gun Clint had given him, Phil ruthlessly used it on one of the men who was trying to bring his gun up to shoot Clint in the back, while Clint took out the other two with sharp, fluid movements.  The fight was over in seconds.

Clint spared Phil a glance, before silently moving towards the door to carefully scan the darkness beyond.  “These guys just don’t give up easy, do they?” he quipped quietly.

“No, they don’t,” Phil agreed, before something caught the focus of his now blue-edge vision.  “We need to move.  Now.”

With a brisk nod, Clint followed him as he headed downstairs to the back of the building.  Phil paused again at the building’s back door, feeling Clint come up behind him.  He scanned the early morning shadows outside, his eyes adjusting to the slowly lightening darkness and didn’t see anything out of place, but as soon as he stepped outside the door, Phil felt his stomach sink; a feeling that only intensified when Phil heard the safeties being removed from several guns.

“Going somewhere, Agent Coulson?” an eerily familiar voice called out.

Phil felt Clint tense behind him a heartbeat after his own body froze.  _Holy fuck_ , _is that Anderson_? Clint sent, his thoughts a mix of dread, disbelief and confusion.  _Isn’t he supposed to be dead?_

_Yeah, he is_ , Phil sent back grimly.

“You know, I was very irritated with Walter when he took those shots at you yesterday,” Anderson said conversationally and stepped forward so he was lit up by a nearby streetlight.  “He was supposed to kill Hawkeye, not you.”

In his chest, Phil’s heart skipped a beat as he realized Anderson was the mysterious boss the men in Vermont had been talking about.  “Except, you moved like you knew the bullet was coming,” Anderson continued.  “I have to admit, Coulson, I was impressed.  You’re more than the paper pusher I first thought you were.  Being able to control the latent energy from the Tesseract device was only supposed to be temporary.”

Anderson paused and Phil had to suppress a shiver that Anderson knew so much about what had happened at the café.  “Tell me how you did that or I shoot Hawkeye right now,” Anderson said.

Phil moved so that he was between Clint and Anderson’s men.  “And why should I?” he replied, trying to plan a way out of there.  “We both know you’re going to kill me the second I tell you anyway.”

Getting another sense of forewarning, Phil spun suddenly and pushed Clint back inside the apartment building, before he threw himself to the left.  Grunting as pain exploded across his shoulder and back as he landed and rolled, Phil dodged the spray of bullets that followed him, the sound almost excruciatingly loud in the pre-dawn quiet.  He’d taken a chance that the men wouldn’t be trying so hard to kill Phil while Anderson still wanted answers to his questions and he was proved right when the men hesitated.

_Phil, are you okay?_

_Fine,_ Phil replied.  _And you?_

As soon as he was back on his feet, Phil lashed out at the man nearest him.  Catching the man around the wrist, Phil shoved the gun away from him and slammed his elbow back into the man’s face as he pivoted on his foot.  His fingers dug into the pressure points in the man’s wrist and with a curse, the man’s grip on the gun slackened, the adrenaline surging through Phil’s bloodstream helping dull the pain in his ribs and shoulder.  He kicked out at a second man in front of him, slamming his boot into the man’s stomach with enough force to drive the air from his lungs.  Then Phil slipped under the first man’s arm, twisting it until it gave a nasty snapping sound, and swept the man’s feet out from under him.  He dropped to the ground with a strangled grunt.

_I’m good,_ Clint answered as Phil heard two gunshots from the doorway.  Two of Anderson’s men dropped with two perfect headshots.

Suddenly, a large weight crashed into Phil, sending him sprawling.  He grunted as he hit the ground, but didn’t hesitate.  Phil kicked backwards, catching something soft with the heel of his boot and the man grabbing him gave a soft whimper.  Twisting his upper body around to face him, Phil freed enough space to go for his knife and came up slashing.  The man took a cut to the face and released his grip on Phil with a curse.  Drawing his weapons, the man pointed it at Phil as he scrambled to his feet, but Phil was a beat quicker.  Still gripping the knife, he kicked out at the gun with his foot and followed with a slash of his knife at the man’s throat.  Phil let the man drop with a thug, his breathing slightly ragged as his heart pounded in his chest.

Drawing his gun, Phil had it pointed in the direction of the footsteps he’d heard before he recognized Clint’s face.  About a second later, Phil realized Clint’s aim had taken care of the rest of the men.  Clint, being Clint, merely raised an eyebrow at Phil and the gun and gestured to the lightening street around them.  “I think Anderson fled, but I didn’t see when or in which direction,” he said.

Phil frowned as he lowered the gun and sighed.  In the distance he could hear the sound of sirens and knew Anderson would be long gone already.  “We need to get out of here,” he said.

Clint smirked.  “I guess it’s just as well these guys left their ride unattended,” he replied, gesturing to the large, black 4WD parked half over the curb.

“Well, then let’s go,” Phil said.

 

 

Ten hours later, Phil and Clint found themselves exiting the Okhotny Ryad Metro station.  They were hidden in the crowds of loudly talking tourists as they headed for the famous Red Square and the distinctive State Historical Museum.  The sounds grated in Phil’s head and the late afternoon sunlight did little to ease the vague headache that had been plaguing him since Paris.  Catching a flight to Moscow had been easy enough and hopefully it would have put enough distance between them and Anderson.  Or at least give them long enough to meet with Moroz before anything else happened.

With a veiled glance around him, Phil glanced towards the northern end of the State Historical Museum even as he tugged his jacket a little closer around him.  Thankfully, it was the wrong time of year for Moscow to be covered in snow, because Phil knew firsthand how that kind of cold sank right into your bones, but while it might not have been snowing in Moscow yet, but it wasn’t warm either.  Beside him, Clint’s hard blue eyes never stopped as they moved over the crowd around them.  Whether it was Clint’s survival instincts honed over years of having to watch his back or Phil’s own sense of paranoia, they were both on edge and kept wary eyes on the crowd around them.

When they caught sight of a hunched figure walking through the crowd in their direction, Phil noticed Clint’s hand moved instinctively to the gun he had tucked into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, even as Phil’s hand twitched to do the same.  Even recognizing the figure was alone wasn’t enough to have Clint moving his hand away from his gun.  “You Coulson?” the man called out, stopping three feet away from either Clint or Phil and watching them just as warily as they’d been watching him.

Phil gave him a nod.  “Alexander Moroz?”

The man was in his late-twenties and he had the lean thin look of someone who spent his life with books and papers.  A pair of wire-framed glasses covered observant eyes and his shaggy brown hair looked as if it needed a decent haircut.  He looked just like the journalist they’d been expecting and Phil felt something inside him relax a fraction.  As Phil watched, he noticed Moroz’s eyes had strayed to Clint and he was watching the archer suspiciously.

“He’s with me,” Phil said.

“So,” Moroz said, turning back to Phil.  “How do I know you’re not here on behalf of Cerberus?”

“Well, we haven’t tried to kill you yet,” Clint said dryly, his eyes watching the crowds more than Moroz.  “Doesn’t that count for something?”

Moroz glanced at him, his fingers twitching towards his pocket, before he shrugged.  “Yeah, I guess so,” he said.  “It’s just the people who want this information have a very long reach and I’d rather not end up dead.”

“As long as Cerberus knows you have the information, they’re going to consider you a threat,” Phil said.

Moroz gave him a hard look, but seemed grimly determined not to let his fear get the better of him.  “Somehow, I don’t think they’d accept my word I don’t have it anymore either, so don’t try to pull that one on me,” he said.

Phil shrugged, but he couldn’t help but be a little impressed.  “I wasn’t going to suggest that,” he replied mildly.  “I actually had another idea.”

“What kind of idea?” Moroz asked suspiciously.

“You give us a copy of all the information you have on Cerberus.  And he and I,” Phil said with a glance towards Clint, “will do what we do best.”

Moroz snorted.  “Yeah, because I totally trust a pair of shady strangers.”

Giving in, Phil gave him a small smile.  “You don’t have to,” he said.  “But I was going to ask you a favour.  You said you had the ability to get the information out to the press if you had to?”

“I can,” Moroz said, nodding warily.  “Why?”

“You and I both know the only way to stop these people is to make sure they can’t hide what they’re doing,” Phil said.  “Give us a few days and then release the information.”

“Won’t that get you in trouble?” Moroz asked.

Phil smiled wryly.  “Hopefully, not if my plan works,” he said.

_You have a plan?_ Clint sent via the link.  _When were you going to share it with me?_

_I’m making it up as I go along, mostly,_ Phil replied.

_Phil, you know it fucking terrifies me when you do that_.

“If you don’t hear from me in three days, release the information,” Phil added to Moroz out loud.

Moroz nodded.  “Okay,” he said, drawing a flash drive out of his pocket.  “It’s encrypted, but it should tell you everything you need to know about Cerberus.”

The slim black portable memory device looked almost innocuous.  It certainly gave Phil no clues as to what was on it.  “Thank you,” he said.

When Moroz froze in front of him, Phil snapped his head up to watch the crowd, ready to fight or flee and cursed when he saw several men pushing through the crowd.  He couldn’t tell who they were from the distance, but he knew they weren’t tourists.  “Go,” Phil told a cursing Moroz.

_Jesus, they came out of nowhere!_ Clint growled in his head.

Sparing a glance to make sure Moroz disappeared into the crowd, Phil turned to watch the men approach.  He couldn’t help the hint of fear that twisted through his stomach at the way he and Clint had been found so easily.  _Townsend must have been watching the airports and tracked us through the security cameras_ , he told Clint.

_You sure it’s Townsend and not Anderson?_

_Oh, yeah,_ Phil sent, spotting a familiar face in the crowd.  _I’d recognize that asshole anywhere._

_Shit, they have us surrounded_ , Clint told him a moment later.

Phil felt his blood run cold, but kept the emotion off his face.  He’d seen Townsend’s men circling them, the broad square around the State Historical Museum giving them plenty of room to do it.  Phil was surprised to recognize half the men as SHIELD agents and realized Townsend was using a SHIELD grab team against them.  He blinked again when he spotted Sitwell among them.

_They’re SHIELD_ , Phil sent to Clint as he felt his eyes narrow with anger.  _That asshole is trying to arrest us using SHIELD agents._

_I’ll try really hard not to shoot them anywhere painful then,_ Clint quipped back, before Phil felt his surprise through the link.  _Is that Sitwell?_

Phil didn’t reply, instead watching grimly as Townsend moved through the crowds to stand in front of him.  “Agent Coulson,” Townsend greeted when he was close enough.  “We’ve been looking for you.”

Taking a deep breath, Phil tried to ignore the smugness in Townsend’s tone.  The asshole thought he had Phil and Clint cornered, although right now Phil couldn’t entirely disagree.  He felt Clint tense and ready to react beside him, the link humming with tension and he knew the only thing preventing Clint from drawing his gun were the tourists around them.  Townsend smirked as he brushed an invisible speck of dirt off the sleeve of his suit jacket.  “So, Coulson, are you going to come quietly?” he asked.  “Or is Hawkeye going to be unfortunately injured during capture?”

Phil took another deep breath and resisted the urge to shoot out Townsend’s kneecaps, but only barely.  “Do you really think I’m going to let you take us in that easily?” he asked.

“I don’t think you have a choice,” Townsend sneered.

Suddenly, Clint moved, his body slamming into Phil and sending him staggering backwards a couple of steps.  Automatically, Phil’s hands came up to grab Clint, even as the echoing retort of a rifle shot sent the crowds around them into chaos.  Clint’s face looked pale, but before Phil’s mind could fully realize what had happened, screams tore through the air at the distinct sound of more gunfire, this time from the ground.  Fear curled through Phil as he caught the pained expression in Clint’s blue eyes, even as he felt something hot and wet against the hand he had pressed against Clint’s flat stomach.  Looking down, Phil saw blood darkening the fabric of Clint’s t-shirt and felt his heart freeze.  He wasn’t sure how bad the wound was, but it certainly didn’t look good.

“Saw a reflection of… the scope,” Clint ground out, sounding like he was gritting his teeth.  “Guess I didn’t… move fast enough.”

A second burst of gunfire tore through the air and the terrified screams of the tourists only got louder and more frantic in response.  Phil ignored it all, barely noting Townsend’s panicked attempt to flee, because right now anything other than the man in his arms was unimportant.  “Clint,” he whispered desperately.

“Not… checking out on you yet,” Clint said.

“Can you fight?” Phil asked, glancing up to see men holding guns heading towards them.  They weren’t hard to spot in the fleeing crowd; they were the only ones holding guns and moving towards Phil and Clint.  The SHIELD agents that still remained were looking confused, but Phil was relieved to see they’d moved to stand _between_ Phil and Clint and the approaching men with guns, with Sitwell standing nearby and giving terse orders.

“Gonna… have to,” Clint replied, also keeping his eye on the men coming towards them.

Clint straightened with a low groan of pain, his jaw stubbornly clenching.  Phil knew that Clint would keep standing and fighting by strength of will alone because that was just how breathtakingly and perversely determined the archer was.  Phil resolved to get him out of there as fast as possible.  By now, the men with guns had almost reached the SHIELD agents, seeming to prefer to take their time now that the tourists had fled.  So far, they seemed just to be caging everyone in instead of shooting everybody and Phil was grateful for the moment to think.  They needed to get out of there and fast.

“Fuck me,” Sitwell swore loudly, before looking over at them.  “Phil, is that _Anderson_?  I thought he was supposed to be _dead_?”

Glancing up, Phil saw the familiar figure of Conrad Anderson just beyond the men with guns, Townsend cringing next to him and talking frantically.  “He was,” Phil told Sitwell.

A beat later, the world erupted as the air was ripped apart by a large explosion.  Phil scarcely had a heartbeat to grasp what was happening, before he was thrown off his feet by the blast.  He crashed against hard concrete a second later and felt the impact reverberate through his bones, agony rippling through his ribs and shoulder before everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the cliff-hanger guys! I know how horrible it can be, but I needed a place to break the chapter before it got too big. Hopefully the next bit will be up soon!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it has taken me so long to post this chapter after the cliffhanger I left you all with!! RL intruded unfortunately :( I can only hope this chapter makes up for it, a little at least :)
> 
> Also, warnings for swearing and violence in this chapter.

“Shit, those assholes just blew up my car!”

Phil groaned as he blinked the darkness away from his vision, his head and shoulder pounding.  Grimacing in the direction of the angry shout as he pushed up himself up on his hands and winced at his new bruises, Phil found Sitwell glared at the flaming remains of one of the SHIELD cars as he took cover behind a low wall.

_Clint?_

When he got no response through the link, Phil’s eyes immediately sought out the archer and he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Clint lying crumpled on the concrete.  He wasn’t moving and he was even paler than before.  Phil felt something lurch sickeningly in his chest and moved to scramble over to Clint’s side, only to be stopped by a strong hand on his arm.  He blinked and looked up in surprise to find Natasha crouched beside him, a gun held loosely in her hand.  Phil had no idea where she’d come from.

“Let the medic see to Clint,” she said.  “Deal with Anderson’s men first.”

“Natasha?” Phil said, still surprised by her sudden appearance; absently, he noticed her hair was still blonde.  “How did you know we were in Moscow?”

“Sitwell told me as soon as Townsend found your flight information from Paris,” Natasha replied.

Phil gave her a nod, realizing now wasn’t the time for further explanations.  He attempted to force the choking fear for Clint from his mind to focus on Anderson’s men, but it was hard.  He pushed himself to the feet and drew his gun, aiming at the men surrounding them, while at his side, Natasha did the same.  He carefully eyed the men surrounding them and the guns pointed unerringly in their direction, wondering how exactly they were going to find a way out of this.

“Put your guns down, Agents,” Anderson called out, safe behind the line of men and guns.  “Nice and slow.”

“No,” Natasha replied.  “Let us go or I shoot you between the eyes.”

A few seconds later, Phil realized the men in front of him were not the only ones he should have been worried about.  Something hard and painful slammed into his back, sending fire arcing through his ribs and making Phil stagger forward a few steps, his hand tightening in an effort to hold onto his gun.  Before he could recover his balance, his legs were swept out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the concrete for the second time and this time the gun went skittering away.

Agony flared all over Phil’s body, but he gritted his teeth and fought to make his muscles move.  Surging to his feet and whipping around, he lashed out with a kick to the nearest man’s jaw, surprising the man when it connected and sent him crashing to the ground.  Phil spun again, channeling his anger and fear for Clint into his movements and struck out with another kick, this one aimed at a second of the armed men.  He hit the man in the stomach, before following up with a brutal punch and a vicious knee to the face.  Adrenaline surged through Phil’s body and started to take the edge of the pain still pulsing through his body.

With a glance over in Natasha’s direction, he saw she was fighting as well.  He watched her deftly throw one of the men over her shoulder and crashing into a second while a third lay in a crumpled heap at his feet.  Tucking her body into a graceful forward roll, Natasha snatched up her gun again and started firing ruthlessly at the men that were still attacking them.  Phil risked a glance in Clint’s direction, but a woman in a SHIELD uniform was crouched over him, blocking his body from Phil’s view and the link between them was still horrifyingly quiet; thankfully, not completely silent, but barely humming.

Reaching behind him for the knife in the small of his back, Phil turned his focus back to see three men surging towards him en masses.  None of the men were pointing guns in Phil’s direction, which proved to Phil that Anderson clearly still wanted him alive.  Phil didn’t hesitate to use the advantage.  As soon as the first man reaching him, Phil brought the knife around in a gleaming arc to slash towards the man’s throat, driving him backwards.  Phil then pivoted sharply on his right foot and slammed an elbow into the throat of the second man.  He ducked under a wide punch, lashing out behind him with a kick towards the third man.  Dodging a second punch, Phil blocked the strike and ruthlessly drove the knife into the man’s shoulder.

Forced to let go of the knife as the man staggered backwards with a cry of pain, Phil turned to deal with the third man, only to feel a rough hand grab his shoulder and a thick arm wrap around his throat from the behind him.  He could feel the weight of the man against his back and sucked in a ragged breath before the pressure on his throat started to tighten.  Phil slammed an elbow behind him as his body started to struggle for air, before he threw his body weight backwards, making the man behind him stumble as his grip slacken.  As soon as Phil could suck in a breath, he reacted, pushing off the arm around his throat as he twisted and bringing up his knee to drive it into the man’s stomach.  Phil then whipped one of his legs out in a rough sweep, sending the man crashing to the ground.

Straightening, Phil glanced towards Natasha when he realized the attack had stopped.  Aside from the SHIELD agents and a few unconscious or dead bodies, the square was deserted.  Phil couldn’t hear the sound of sirens yet and he wondered what just kind of deal Townsend or Anderson had struck with the Russian authorities.  “Where’s Townsend?” he asked Natasha.

She gave a disdainful snort.  “He ran off when he saw the car explode,” she said.

“We need to get out of here,” Phil said grimly, his eyes straying back to where Clint lay, the medic still crouched over him.

Suddenly, two black four wheel drives accelerated over the curb from the street beyond, screeching to halt not far from where Sitwell and the other agents were starting to gather.  “That’s not good,” Phil said as he watched the SHIELD agents dive for cover again.

“Anderson called for reinforcements,” Natasha said ominously as they both caught sight of a smirking Anderson climbing out of the back seat of one of the four wheel drives.

Phil blinked as he realized the light around them was steadily dimming.  Risking a glance upwards, he noticed the heavy, dark storm clouds gathering unnaturally fast in the sky above them.  He really hoped the clouds meant the imminent arrival of a certain Thunder God.  “Are we expecting Thor?” he asked Natasha.

Natasha flashed him a rare grin.  “He said he had an idea,” she told him.  His expression must have hinted at his disapproval at the other Avengers getting involved, because Natasha just arched a reproachful eyebrow at him.  “Since when do any of the Avengers just sit around and do nothing?” she asked.  “None of us are going to sit back and watch our friends being hunted.”

Phil found he couldn’t say much to that.  They both shifted their attention back to Anderson and his goons, just as the goons sent a burst of gunfire in Phil and Natasha’s direction.  As Natasha dove for cover, Phil darted in and snatched the holstered gun from one of the unconscious men.  Ducking down behind a small wall, he took a deep breath and glanced towards Natasha.  When she gave him a sharp nod, he took aim at the nearest goon and let off a few carefully placed shots before he was forced to duck down again.  Bullets thudded into the wall next to him and Phil winced as one of the concrete fragments cut his cheek.

Natasha moved while the goons were distracted by Phil, finding better cover behind the nearby statue, firing as she went.  Her aim was as efficiently deadly as ever.  Phil took another couple of shots, trying to judge his own moment to break cover because the wall wouldn’t protect him for long.  As if to emphasize the point, more bullets thudded into the low concrete wall he was crouched behind.

“Coulson!” Natasha called out and Phil glanced over to see her give a short series of hand-signals telling him to shut his eyes.

After working with Natasha for so long, he didn’t even hesitate to follow her instructions, crouching further behind the wall and squeezing his eyes shut.  A second later, the world beyond his eyelids lit up so much that the light hurt even though his eyes were closed.  He felt the hairs of the back of his neck prickle and the scent of ozone was heavy in the air, right before a deafening clap of thunder shook the air.

 _If the Russian’s didn’t know something big was going down, they do now,_ Phil reflected.

When he could finally open his eyes again, Phil blinked and saw Thor standing in the middle of the square, his red cape flapping dramatically in the breeze and the familiar complicated pattern Phil recognized from New Mexico beneath his feet.  But what were even more surprising than the dramatic entrance of the demigod were the three women standing behind him.  They looked like something out of a fantasy movie, clad in skin-tight black leather and all varying shades of blonde, but there was a surety in their movements and a deadly edge to their grace that made the leather-and-swords seem less than ridiculous.  Phil blinked again and it was only when the tallest of the three women turned around that he truly realized what was going on.

“Thor brought _valkyries_?” he said.  “ _That_ was his idea?”

Natasha just gave him a sharp grin in reply.

At Thor’s appearance, Anderson and his men had retreated to the other side of their black four wheel drives, apparently less than eager to engage a demigod and three valkyries.  Taking advantage of the quiet, the tallest of the three valkyries headed straight for Phil.  She looked a hell of a lot better than she had when Phil had last seen her, the unnatural leanness of her starved frame now filled out with firm muscle, but her ice-blue eyes were exactly the same.  “Eir,” Phil greeted as she knelt in front of him.

“Greetings, my friend,” Eir replied with a small smile, reaching out to cup Phil cheek.

Almost immediately, Phil felt the sting in his cheek disappear.  Eir narrowed her eyes in concentration, the palm touching Phil’s cheek starting to tingle as a faint white glow pulsed from her hand.  “You are injured,” she said.

The tingling warmth spread from Eir’s hand, parts of it concentrating along the dull throb of Phil’s ribs and back, at the pain in his shoulder and taking away the headache growing at Phil’s temples.  The warmth intensified for a moment, prickling like a small electric current, before it faded away, taking all of the pain and discomfort with it.  Phil opened his mouth to thank her, only to see Eir’s eyes widen.  “You… how..?” she said, her eyes searching his for a moment, before she frowned.  “You and I have much to discuss, Son of Coul, but I do not think here is the place for it.”

Phil ignored the way his stomach clenched at her words and cleared his throat instead.  “Clint…” he began.  “Can you..?”

“He is being taken care of,” Eir said kindly, gesturing over to where one of the other valkyries was now kneeling beside him, a white glow coming from the hand he had pressed over Clint’s stomach.  “Your beloved will be fine.”

“Thank you,” Phil said hoarsely, relief swimming through his veins.  He slumped again the low concrete wall, the events of the last hour overwhelming him now that he had a moment to breathe.

“I could do no less for a friend,” Eir replied with a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “Thor and my sisters will help deal with those that wish to harm you.”

With a final look at Phil, Eir rose gratefully and started walking towards where Thor was waving his hammer threateningly at Anderson and his men.  Phil doubted they had much longer before Anderson tried something, demigod or no demigod.

_Phil?_

The echo of Clint in his head felt a little dazed and more than a little tired, but Phil was still flooded with relief and gratitude when he heard it.  His eyes immediately sought out Clint and found him being helped to sit up by both the SHIELD agent and the valkyrie who had been helping him.  _Clint_ , he sent back in a rush.  _You’re okay.  You scared me for a minute there._

 _I scared myself a little, too_ , Clint replied.

He looked up when he heard the scuff of a footstep nearby, only to find Agent Sitwell moving towards him.  “Hey, sir,” Sitwell said, dropping into a crouch beside where Phil was still leaning against the low wall.  “I think this would be a good moment for you and Barton to get out of here.”

Phil glanced at the other agent.  “Not that I’m not grateful, but shouldn’t you be arresting me?” he said cautiously.

Sitwell gave him an irritated look.  “Since when do I blindly follow idiotic orders?” he said.  “Nobody at SHIELD believes your or Barton are guilty of what they’re accusing you of.”

“But they believe it of Fury?” Phil replied.

“Who can tell what exactly that one-eyed bastard is capable of?” Sitwell said with a quick flash of a grin.  “But take out a US Senator?  No way.  We both know if Fury wanted to take over the world, that wouldn’t be his style.”  Sitwell paused for a moment, giving Phil a sidelong glance.  “It wouldn’t be yours, either,” he added.

“Thank you,” Phil told him, grateful for the show of loyalty from his old friend.

Sitwell tossed him a set of keys.  “There’s another SHIELD car, but it’s parked on the other side of Anderson and his thugs,” he said.  “Think you and Barton can get to it?”

“We’ll have to,” Phil said grimly.

“One more thing, sir,” Sitwell added.  “Give ‘em hell.  I’m really starting to enjoy the vein that pops out of Townsend’s forehead every time he realizes you and Barton have given him the slip again.”

Phil paused to give Sitwell his own grin.  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

Getting to his feet, Phil moved further along the low concrete wall, his eyes already attempting to trace a route past Anderson and his men to get to the black SHIELD car waiting for them.  Phil was grateful most of Anderson’s attention was still fixed on Thor and the valkyries.  _Clint?  Are you okay to move?_ Phil sent.

 _Do we have a way out of here?_ Clint asked.  _And, fuck, is that_ Thor _?_

 _Yeah, and he brought valkyries,_ Phil replied, knowing Clint would be able to tell most of what had happened while he was unconscious from the thoughts Phil was sending him.

 _Eir’s back?_ Clint sounded amused.  _And damn valkyries are kind of hot._

 _Don’t let Natasha hear you say that,_ Phil returned.

Natasha dropped silently down to crouch beside him before Phil could even realize she was there.  “Thor’s going to give you a distraction so you can get out of here,” she said.  “Keep your phone on.  Stark will be calling later to give you directions to a safe place.”

“So much for you and the others supposedly staying put at Stark Tower,” Phil said dryly.

Natasha arched an eyebrow.  “Are we really having this conversation again?” she asked.  “You had a chance to do things alone.  Now you have help.”

Phil slipped along to the end of the low wall, Natasha ghosting beside him, and peered around the corner.  He frowned when he saw the distance between them and the way Anderson and his men were covering the area.  “We’re going to need another way past,” he said grimly.

“There’s a way behind us,” Natasha replied.  “If you go over the wall and cut past the fountain.”

With a nod, Phil followed the path Natasha had suggested and saw only one or two of Anderson’s men patrolling in between.  “What about you?” Phil asked, knowing that as much as Natasha wanted to, she wouldn’t be coming with them just yet.

“I’m helping Thor with his distraction,” she replied with a shark-like smile.

“Watch your back,” he said.

 Natasha nodded, her expression softening a little, before she moved to head back towards Clint.  Phil gave them both a minute, knowing that Natasha wanted to reassure herself that her partner was still alive.  Turning his attention to the open space between him and the car, Phil watched the three patrolling men with guns.  He bit back a curse when he saw the three men had been joined by a fourth while Phil had been distracted.  Clearly Anderson was expecting something.

_Clint, when Thor and Natasha start their distraction, head towards the eastern side of the fountain.  I’ll meet you there._

Phil let out a breath when Clint agreed, adrenaline still humming through him.  He began sneaking in the direction of the car, keeping low and trying to keep out of sight of the patrolling men.  His heartbeat felt loud in his ears, the only other sounds the distant traffic and the soft scuffs of boots on concrete from the direction of Anderson’s goons.  Just when Phil thought the tension was beginning to get to him, he heard the sounds of Thor’s distraction behind him.

At least, Phil assumed the sounds of a large explosion and the crackling of lightning in the air were Thor’s distraction.

Risking a glance behind him, Phil was just in time to catch the remains of one of Anderson’s burning four wheel drives fall back down from where it had been blown into the sky, no doubt helped by a large amount of Thor’s lightning.  He grinned for a second when he saw Natasha move out of the shadows of a building, firing as she went.  Three more black four wheel drives screeched to a halt behind the first two, but they kept their distance from the clearly angry Thunder God.

Thankfully, the patrolling men had run towards the destruction Thor was causing, leaving Phil’s path almost clear to the car.  He ducked and ran for the edge of the fountain, keeping it between him and Anderson’s men and paused for another moment to look behind him.  He saw Clint shooting at three of the goons, catching them as they were turned towards Natasha and the valkyries, before he ducked back around the corner of the statue he was crouched behind.  Bullets thudded into the space where he had just been, but Phil knew Clint was already halfway to the new position he’d picked out well away from the bullets.  The valkyries were living up to their legend as well, ruthlessly cutting down any of the men that got within reach of their swords.

Shaking his head slightly to get him mind focus back on getting to the car, Phil made sure the route was still clear before he steeled himself for what he was about to do.  He needed to move before anyone spotted him.  Gun held out in front of him and his bag securely on his back, Phil took off at a sprint over the hundred and fifty feet of open ground between him and the SHIELD car.  Rapid gunfire thudded into the ground just behind his feet, urging Phil to move faster.  He dodged some of the debris left behind by the fleeing tourists, not even daring to pause long enough to shoot back and trusting Clint to watch his back if any of the men got too close.

Phil skidded to a stop behind the relative safety of the parked car, before turning and firing back at the men pursuing him and dropping all of them to the ground.  He was vaguely aware of the shouts coming from Anderson’s direction and Thor’s growing anger in return, but he wasted little time in paying attention to it.  Opening the car door, he slid into the driver’s seat and jammed the keys into the ignition, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Anderson organized his men to follow.  The engine started with a purr and Phil slammed it into gear, whipping the car into a turn with a screech of tires.

Heading straight to the eastern side of the fountain, Phil skidded to a halt and threw open the passenger door to see Clint crouched a few feet away with wide eyes.  “Clint, get in!” he called out.

Clint didn’t need a further invitation and scrambled to dive into the passenger seat, slamming the door after him.  “Hit it!” he said with a grin as soon as he was inside.

Phil just smiled back and hit the accelerator.


	9. Chapter 9

Roaring away under a hail of bullets, Phil couldn’t quite keep the grin from his face as he felt the surge of adrenaline pump through his blood.  He swerved around one of the black SUVs as one of Anderson’s men dived into the driver’s seat, missing the other vehicle by inches.  Sliding into a controlled skid as they hit the street, Phil accelerated again as they roared off into the traffic.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on by your aggressive driving style more than I am right now,” Clint said, pausing to look over at Phil with a teasing grin.

Phil couldn’t stop the answering smirk that curved his lips.  “I see you’re feeling better,” he said, his eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror.  He watched the chaos behind them recede as they sped away, before he spotted the shape of a large, black SUV skidding out into the traffic behind them.  “But it’s not over yet,” he added in warning.

Clint followed his gaze and frowned.  “Anderson’s not giving up easy, is he?” he muttered, reaching for his gun as Phil whipped the car into a sharp turn.  “I guess that’s my cue.  Although, this would be easier with my bow.”

With a glance in Clint’s direction, Phil saw the archer open the window and aim at their pursuers.  The tire of the lead SUV blew with a bang, sending the SUV into a skid.  Clint calmly continued to lean his entire upper body out the window, his blue eyes bright with exhilaration, and aimed at the second tire as the man driving vainly tried to keep the SUV on the road.  When the second tire blew, the SUV jerked sharply to the right and Phil watched grimly in the rearview mirror as he spotted a second SUV; it ploughed into the first, driving it off the road, before speeding up in pursuit.

“Shit,” Clint swore beside him.

Phil swore under his breath as he spotted the two men with guns leaning out the SUV behind them and reached out to grab the back of Clint’s leather jacket, dragging him back into the car as bullets raked the side.  “Thanks,” Clint said, brushing his now disheveled hair out of his eyes as he grinned at Phil.  “There’s at least two more of those SUVs out there.”

“I noticed,” Phil said dryly, flicking his eyes back to the rearview mirror as more bullets pinged off the car.

He spared a second to be grateful of the armour plating most SHIELD cars came with, as he whipped the car around another corner.  Phil was driving as fast as he dared in the light traffic, attempting to leave the SUVs behind.  Buildings became blurred as he pushed the Acura through its paces.  “They’re gaining,” Clint warned him as he glanced over his shoulder to watch the road behind them.

In response, Phil just accelerated, sliding the car around a corner with a squeal of tires.  He felt the absence of cold wind coming in through the open passenger window for a second and risked a glance to the side, only to see Clint climbing out through the window again, his leg carefully hooked under his seat and a hand braced against the door to keep his balance as Phil took another sharp turn.  Even with half his focus on the road as he weaved in an out of the traffic, Phil glanced towards the rearview mirror every few seconds to keep track of both Clint and the SUVs.  He saw Clint aim at the driver of the closest SUV, before he fired three shots at the windscreen.  The SUV swerved violently, but didn’t crash.  When Phil glanced at the rearview mirror again, he saw the man in the passenger seat kicking the driver’s dead body from the speeding car as he took over.

“Those bastards are smarter than your average bear,” he muttered after he ducked back into the car.  He pulled a new clip from his pocket as he ejected the empty one in an unconscious movement, before slamming the new one home.

“Have you been watching Yogi Bear cartoons again?” Phil asked him, amused despite himself.

Clint offered him a lop-sided grin that would never not be endearing.  “You know Nat loves that shit,” he replied.

Phil shook his head, before his narrowed gaze was drawn once again to the SUVs behind them.  He cursed at what he saw.  There were another two men leaning out the windows of the SUV closest behind them.  One of the men was holding what looked like an assault rifle, which was worrying enough, but Phil felt his blood run cold when he saw the second man pull out a _grenade launcher_.

“What is it?” Clint asked, curling around in a clear attempt to try and grab a glimpse of what Phil had seen.

“They have a grenade launcher,” Phil said tersely.

“I’m beginning to really hate these guys,” Clint muttered darkly.

As if to punctuate his point, a spray of bullets smashed the window beside Phil, showing them both in glass.  “I agree,” Phil replied, swinging the car wildly to the side as the road just in front of the car exploded.

Phil slammed the car into high gear in an attempt to put more distance between them and Anderson’s men in the SUVs.  Part of Phil’s mind watched in horrified fascination as the grenades kept flying, exploding only inches from the car and causing Phil to swerve each time.  He was paying so much attention on avoiding both the men behind them and the traffic ahead that Phil was only vaguely aware when Clint twisted around and half disappeared into the back seat.

“Phil, have you been lecturing the junior agents about being properly prepared again?” Clint called over his shoulder, humour clear in his voice.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Phil said, slamming down a gear as he slid around another bend in the road.

Clint was grinning when he settled back into the passenger seat, now laden with several Molotov cocktails and an old World War II grenade.  “Seriously, I am now officially scared about what you’ve been teaching the junior agents,” he said.

Rolling his eyes, Phil heard another spray of bullets hitting the back of the car, these ones managing to shatter the back window.  Both he and Clint flinched at the sharp sound of breaking glass.  When Anderson’s men paused to reload, Clint disappeared back out the window and Phil watched as he attempted to use his new arsenal to its best advantage.  Lighting the first Molotov cocktail, Clint threw it at the pursuing SUVs.  It smashed into the windscreen of the lead car, setting it ablaze, and Phil watched as the SUV swerved into a nearby barrier and scratched the paint down the entire left side.

Phil heard Clint mutter a curse as the driver regained control.  He threw the second Molotov with more force than the first, but it bounced off the first SUV and hit the second, just as Clint was forced to duck back inside the car.  Gritting his teeth, Phil was forced to turn the car a little too sharply, sending it dangerously close to the barrier as several more grenades hit the road around them.  As Phil fought to keep control of the car, he saw Clint climb back out the car window and cursed the archer’s lack of preservation instincts, but it did little to stop Clint.

 _Clint…_ he sent, worry curling sickeningly in his stomach.

 _Have a little faith, Phil,_ Clint sent back and Phil didn’t need to see his face to know there was a cheeky little smile accompanying the words.

Clint lit the third and last of the Molotov cocktails and threw it at the SUVs behind them.  Phil caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror and noticed that Clint hadn’t aimed at the windscreen this time; instead he seemed to be aiming at the goon with the grenade launcher.  As the Molotov flew through the air, Clint brought up his gun and fired, shattering the glass bottle and raining flaming liquid down on the goon.  The man gave a yell and scrambled back inside the SUV to get away from it and Phil smiled slightly when the man was forced to drop the grenade launcher to get away from the flames.

Just for good measure, Clint fired a few more shots at the driver of the lead SUV.  “Fucking assholes,” Clint said as he slid back into the car again.  “If I had my arrows they’d be a series of smoking craters right now.”

Phil’s dry response was interrupted by the explosion of another grenade hitting a little to close the car and apparently thrown by hand.  “You know, I really don’t like it when the bad guys have grenades,” Clint said darkly, before he all but threw his body out of the speeding car again.

The grenade exploded the second it hit the first SUV and the car smashed into the barrier with a sickening crunch.  It spun as it was hit from behind by the second SUV and Phil watched as the first car crashed over the top of the barrier and rolled.  Clint took his chance and fired the rest of his clip at the second car, but he didn’t seem to do much damage as Phil was forced to swerve again, almost throwing him from the car.  Only his quick reflexes saved him and for one stomach-turning moment, Phil’s heart lodged in his throat.  Clint flashed him an apologetic look as he maneuvered himself back inside the car.  “So… You got any ideas?  Or explosives stashed away?” he asked hopefully.

“Sadly, no,” Phil replied, keeping a close eye on the remaining SUV behind them.

Clint sank back against the seat, looking exhausted as the adrenaline left him for a minute.  Phil continued to weave car in and out of the traffic, keeping an eye on the SUV all the while, but the streets were getting narrower and Phil couldn’t help but think the SUV was starting to deliberately stay back, like they were waiting for something up ahead.  He turned around a particularly sharp corner and had a moment to curse, just as a large truck pulled out in front of them, blocking the narrow street they’d just entered.  Judging by the man dressed in black who had been driving, this hadn’t been an accident.

Phil hit the brakes and sharply turned the car in the same moment he caught sight of the driver of the truck bringing up an assault rifle.  Stucco impacts of bullets thumped into the bonnet, barely missing the windscreen as the SUV that had been following them screeched to a halt behind the Acura, preventing their escape.  “Shit,” Clint cursed.  “Phil…”

“Brace yourself,” Phil warned as he slammed the car into reverse, revving the engine as he rammed the car backwards, tires squealing.

He hit the SUV behind them with a loud crash, spinning it into the wall of a nearby building as more bullets sprayed the car.  Accelerating forwards again, Phil drove straight at the gunman who’d exited the truck, forcing him to dive out of the way or get hit by the speeding car.  Phil skidded around the truck, squeezing through the narrow space between it and the wall and scraping off a good layer of paint on the way.  At the end of the narrow street, he made another sharp turn and slid smoothly back into the traffic, but thankfully it appeared they’d lost Anderson’s men for now.

Clint let out a shaky chuckle beside him.  “Well, that was fun,” he said.

“ _You_ would think so,” Phil said, letting out a rough breath of his own.  “I’m still not sure I agree.”

“Liar,” Clint replied with a grin.  “So where are we headed?  If you’re open to suggestions, I vote the Bahamas.”

“I’m not sure we can drive all the way there,” Phil said dryly, sliding a look towards Clint.  The archer was slumped in the passenger seat looking exhausted after the adrenaline crash, but otherwise unharmed.  “Are you okay?” Phil asked him softly.

“I’m fine,” Clint replied.  “I barely have a scar.  Sigrun fixed me up good.”

“Sigrun?” Phil asked, frowning slightly.

“Hey, I like to be on first name terms with valkyries working their voodoo on me,” Clint said with a shrug.  “I figured it was kind of rude not to be.”

The sharp, shrill ring of the phone in Phil’s jacket pocket interrupted them before Phil could reply.  Clint fished it out with nimble fingers and neither of them was surprised to hear Stark’s voice echo out over the speaker phone.  “Right, so have you managed to lose Anderson’s goon squad yet?” Stark asked in lieu of a greeting.

“For now, yes,” Phil answered.  “How are things on your end?”

“They’ve been better because Townsend?  Is a complete ass,” Stark said.  “On the other hand, I’m not chained up in some super-secret SHIELD dungeon, so I’m counting it as a win.”

“SHIELD doesn’t have a super-secret dungeon, Stark,” Phil said, but it wasn’t without a trace of humour and Stark’s general ridiculousness.

Stark scoffed.  “Sure, because an organization run by a man with an obsession with leather would _never_ have a dungeon somewhere,” he replied.

Clint snorted out a laugh.  “I’m sure if you ask nicely enough, Stark, Fury will show it to you personally.”

“Don’t make me singe you when I see you, Legolas,” Stark grumbled.  “Okay, so JARVIS has you on the satellite.  You need to start heading south-east from where you are,” he continued, changing topic with barely a breath.  “You’re about twenty miles from Myachkovo airport.  I’ve got a plane fuelled and waiting, so just get your asses here, okay?”

Phil bit back a sigh, because he had a feeling he knew exactly where Stark was right now.  “Stark, are you sitting on that plane?” he asked.

“Oh come on!” Stark grumbled.  “Natasha wanted to help and then Pepper wouldn’t let her go alone and we’re a team, Coulson!  That means we do things together and watch each others’ backs!”

Clint grinned from the passenger seat.  “You wanted us to work together Phil,” he said.

“Exactly,” Stark agreed.  “Besides, it’s not like you getting much time to do anything but avoid Anderson and his attempts to capture you, so we took a vote and decided it was time to pool our resources.”

Phil gave in with a chuckle.  “I guess that means we’ll see you in twenty minutes, Stark,” he said.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long!! RL got busy there for a while and it took me a while to find a moment to type up all my disjointed and handwritten notes ;) Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long :)

The car screeched to a stop a little more dramatically than Phil had intended as he pulled up alongside the runway at Myachkovo airport.  A familiar jet was waiting for them and Phil didn’t know what Stark had said to the airport security to get them through uncontested, but he was both impressed and grateful.  Stark appeared out the doorway to the jet’s cabin as Phil climbed out of the car and gestured at them.  “Come on,” he called with a grin.  “You’re the last ones to the party.”

With remarkable efficiency, they were hustled onto the jet and Stark wasted no time in telling the pilots to take off.  Settling into one of the leather couches with Clint pressed against his side, Phil tried to stay focused, but now that he was crashing from the adrenaline overload of the last few hours, he felt exhausted enough that he would rather just sink back into the plush leather and sleep.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that.  He needed to focus and find out what was going on.

Phil looked over as Natasha curled up in the space between Clint and the window, while Stark and Steve Rogers took the seats opposite.  Thor and the valkyries were also sitting close by and the valkyries were eyeing the walls of the cabin distrustfully.  “All right,” Phil said.  “What’s the sitrep?”

“Seriously?” Stark said.  “You’ve been on the run for four days being shot at and who knows what else… and the first thing you ask for is a sitrep?”

Gathering the tattered remains of his professionalism around him and raised an eyebrow at Stark, trying to ignore the fact that he was in jeans rather than his usual tailored suit.  Stark rolled his eyes.  “It wouldn’t kill you to ask for a cheeseburger, you know,” Stark added.

With the hint of a smile on his face, Phil relaxed a little more against the seat, strangely comforted by the presence of most of the Avengers despite the lingering edge of weird.  The Avengers, along with Jane Foster and Pepper Potts, had proven how willing they’d been to help Clint when Phil had been kidnapped and Phil knew he wasn’t giving anyone enough credit to be surprised they’d done it again, but part of him still was.

“Truthfully, Stark, I’d just prefer to figure out what the hell is going on,” he said dryly, unable to keep the exhaustion from his voice.  “The cheeseburger can wait until after I sleep.”

Stark rolled his eyes again.  “Always the Super Agent,” he replied, but there was no malice in his tone.

“I think you already know everything we do, Agent Coulson,” Steve said.  “Townsend still has control over SHIELD.  Agent Hill is doing her best, but she doesn’t have the authority to do much with Fury in the wind and we still can’t prove that Barton didn’t shoot Senator Pierce.”

Phil nodded, hating the grim news.  “Captain, do I have to ask you again to just call me Phil?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Steve smiled.  “Okay,” he said.  “But then you have to call me Steve.”

Internally, Phil’s eight-year-old self was jumping up and down and yelling for joy.  _Captain America_ was letting Phil call him Steve.  Phil felt the beginnings of a blush heat his ears, but hopefully he kept most of it from his face.

_You are such a fanboy_ , Clint’s words echoed through the link, mixed with warm amusement and affection.

“You never let me call you Phil!” Stark protested.

Phil looked over at him.  “I was under the impression you preferred to call me Super Agent,” he said dryly.  He paused, giving Stark a level look, before his expression softened.  “But if you want to call me Phil, I have no objection,” he added.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but something in Stark’s own expression softened and brightened.  “So,” Phil said, turning back to Steve.  “Has Townsend made any threats towards the Avengers?”

“Not directly,” Steve answered.  “But he did threaten to revoke Tony’s security clearance if he set foot on SHIELD property.”

Phil frowned, but Stark waved his words away.  “Don’t worry, I didn’t try,” he said.  “Cap volunteered anyway.  Turns out no one can really say no to Captain America.”

That made Phil remember the listening devices.  “And bugging SHIELD’s operation centre?  Who’s idea was that?”

“Well, we couldn’t just wait around for Hill to tell us everything,” Stark said.  “Besides, Townsend is keeping Hill out of the loop too.  She was pretty happy to help.  She doesn’t seem to like Townsend very much.”

“Townsend’s an asshole,” Phil said.  “For many reasons.  One of which being that he questioned Maria’s ability in the field.  Has JARVIS found anything useful from the listening devices yet?”

“Nothing more than we already know,” Stark replied.  “Although, I do have some pretty passionate quotes from Sitwell defending your honour.  He seems quite enamoured, Phil.”

“It’s because Phil trained him,” Clint said, his voice rough with fatigue.  “Just like he trained Hill.”

That seemed to make Stark pause.  “So where are we heading, anyway?” Clint said in the following silence.

“I’ve got a little place on the coast of Montenegro,” Stark said.  “Everyone else is waiting for us there and I thought we could lie low for a day or two while we figure out how to deal with this.”

Phil opened his mouth to attempt some sort of argument, but Stark cut him off with a sharp look.  “You and Legolas tried it your way and you both got shot.  Now it’s our turn.”

“Stark…” Phil began anyway.

“No, Tony is right,” Steve said firmly.  “You and Clint don’t have enough resources to deal with this on your own, so you’re going to accept help from your _team_.”

Phil wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.  _Listen to Captain America, Phil_ , Clint sent, his thoughts a mixture of reproach and teasing.

“We’re here to help,” Stark agreed.  “Deal with it.”

 

 

Four hours later, Phil found himself in the communal living area of a small, rundown hotel on the coast of Montenegro.  Regardless of how many dummy corporations it was bought through, Phil still thought it was strangely apt that Stark’s idea of a safehouse was a former four-star hotel.  After the discussion on the jet, Phil and Clint had managed to nap on the way to a small airstrip, before the whirlwind that was Tony Stark had swept them along to the hotel, where Bruce, Pepper and Jane Foster had been anxiously waiting.  Stark had immediately organized some sort of impromptu summit with Bruce, Thor, Jane and Eir.  The others had all retreated to various parts of the hotel to rest or whatever it was Stark was up to and Phil had settled in the lounge with the information Stark, JARVIS and Steve had gathered via the bugs and Moroz’s encrypted notes in an attempt to try and figure out what Cerberus was up to.

Phil reached up to massage the stiff muscles of his neck and glared at the tablet screen lying in front of him.  The more he went over the information, the less idea he had about what Cerberus was planning.  Their manifesto was enough to send chills down Phil’s spine: to gain intelligence and technology for the advancement of the human race, no matter the costs.  From what he’d read, Phil knew that Cerberus saw anyone who wasn’t completely human as a threat and had little hesitation about _removing_ those threats.  He wasn’t sure how that fit into using a mutant for a sniper, but he doubted Cerberus’ ideology would equal HYDRA or Magneto’s.  Cerberus was not fighting for a cause or a new world order.  Instead, they seemed to want to use everything they were searching for simply to protect themselves and their business interests.

Shifting a little on the couch, Phil tried not to bump the papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table and scrubbed a tired hand down his face.  He knew he should probably be sleeping, but he couldn’t turn off his thoughts.  As long as Cerberus had control of SHIELD, Phil doubted he would rest easy.  Giving in with a sigh, Phil got up off the couch and wandered through to the small kitchen to pour another cup of coffee.  “Ugh,” he muttered when he saw the coffee in the pot was as cold and thick as the stuff in his cup.

Emptying the contents down the sink, Phil rummaged around for the grounds to make a new pot.  _You know, just because Stark stocked this place with a year’s supply of coffee, doesn’t mean you have to drink it all at once_ , Clint’s amusement echoed through the link.

Looking behind him, Phil saw the worn-looking figure of Clint standing in his doorway.  Clint’s hair was still wet from a shower and he was dressed in clean jeans and a hooded sweater, with a wryly amused expression in his blue eyes.  Phil felt something in him settle and calm at the sight of the archer.  With more than a little surprise, Phil realized it was the bond when he felt the feelings echo along it.  “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” Clint said back, a soft smile crossing his face.  He nodded his head back to the couch in the lounge.  “Any luck going over things?”

Abandoning the now empty coffee pot, Phil sighed.  “Not really,” he replied.

With a curious expression, Clint walked over to where Phil had been working.  In addition to the tablet screen that showed various streams of data and several satellite images, the coffee table was covered with large maps and copies of mission files.  Clint’s eyes flicked to the map Phil had been staring at that showed the area around the warehouse the Avengers had just been on a mission to.  “Is that Honduras?” Clint asked.

“Yeah,” Phil said simply.  “I’ve been mapping AIM bases.  Something’s still bugging me about your last mission.”

“How did you get the mission files for that?” Clint asked, moving to sit on the couch before Phil gave in and joined him.  “You can’t have…”  Clint blinked and turned to Phil.  “You did that all from _memory_?”

“Most of it,” Phil admitted.  “The energy data I got from Stark.”

Clint huffed.  “No wonder you can quote my entire SHIELD disciplinary record,” he said with a quick grin.  Then he turned back to the scattered notes.  “So what did you find?”

Not for the first time, Phil was grateful that Clint never doubted him when Phil had a bad feeling, however unsubstantiated.  “The sites marked in red are all AIM bases that have been attacked or seemingly abandoned in the last month,” Phil explained.  “SHIELD was passively monitoring a few, but most of them we were ignoring as low level targets with little or no activity.”

He paused, nodding towards a few of the other maps, including the map of Honduras.  “The five sites marked in purple were all hit in the last two weeks.  All five bases showed an increase in energy recently.”

Clint cursed softly.  “You think whatever AIM was developing wasn’t the only version?” he said.

“No,” Phil said, shaking his head.  “As far as I can tell, the raised energy readings at all five sites weren’t continuous.  And no two of the sites showed any trace of the energy signature at the same time as another.”

“Shit,” Clint said.  “They were moving whatever it was at that warehouse around.  They knew someone was after it.”

“There’s a good possibility, yes,” Phil agreed.

“We _really_ need to figure out whatever it was,” Clint said grimly.  He was quiet for a moment, before he spoke again.  “You think it was Anderson, don’t you?” he asked softly, “behind the attacks on the AIM bases?”

Phil let out a breath, knowing Clint could feel the trepidation, concern and misgivings through the link.  “Yeah,” Phil said.  “I’m just not sure if I’m being paranoid or not.”

“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t means people aren’t trying to kill you,” Clint said with a trace of humour in his voice.

Smiling softly, Phil shifted slightly so that his shoulder and arm was pressing against Clint’s solid and reassuring strength.  Then he let the smile fade as his eyes ran over the maps on the wall again.  “It fits,” he said.  “The teams that hit the bases were trained and highly organized.  You saw it yourself.  The only thing that was stopping them from achieving their goals is a lack of up-to-date intelligence.”

They were silent for a moment and Phil could feel his thoughts sliding towards Anderson and Cerberus.  Ruthlessly, he stopped his mind reliving the memories of his capture at Anderson’s hands – and everything that had led up to that point.

“Phil...” Clint began in a strangely vulnerable voice.

Turning to look at Clint, Phil took in the way he was staring at the floor and his hands were fidgeting and immediately knew what Clint was thinking.  Not all the wounds Loki had left were physical and Phil knew how Clint had pushed all of it aside to find Phil when he’d disappeared.  Phil covered Clint’s fidgeting hands with one of his own.  “You know I never blamed you for a second of it, don’t you?” he asked softly.

Clint looked up, his hands stilling under Phil’s.  Phil saw the trace of disbelief in his expression and felt his heart ache as he was reminded of all the people who had hurt and mistreated this man in the past.  Phil knew Clint well enough to know that words alone wouldn’t be enough to convince him, so without hesitation Phil opened up the link between them and let Clint _feel_ it.  “I was at the facility too, Clint,” he said softly.  “It could just have easily been me standing next to Fury when Loki came through the portal.  It could have been me he compromised with the spear...”

Clint reached up with one hand to press a finger against Phil’s lips.  “How is it that you can do in five minutes what Nat and the others have been trying to do for weeks?” he asked.

Phil smiled.  “Come here,” he said softly, pulling an unresisting Clint against his side.

With a huff that could have been a laugh, Clint tucked himself against Phil’s chest and buried his face in Phil’s shoulder.  Sinking back against the couch, Phil relaxed for a moment.  He trailed his fingers up to idly trace the warm metal chain of Phil’s old dogtags, where it was showing above the collar of Clint’s hoodie.  After Clint had rescued him in Thailand, Phil hadn’t really asked for them back and the dogtags had gone from Phil’s good luck charms to Clint’s.  Clint shivered as Phil’s finger continued to trace the chain, the smile on his face reminding Phil of a cat who’d just been given a whole saucer of cream.

Phil wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but just as Clint looked up at him with a relaxed and happy expression, Phil heard the unmistakable sounds of Tony Stark whirling into the room, Bruce, Jane and unexpectedly Thor trailing in after him.  Clint groaned and pressed his face further into Phil’s shoulder.  “Phil, we…” Stark said, trailing off as he came around the couch and saw Phil and Clint.  “Huh.  I never would have picked Barton as a cuddler,” he said.  “Anyway, we have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Phil asked, hoping they weren’t about to be forced to flee another safehouse.

Stark exchanged a look with Bruce.  “It’s about the AIM warehouse SHIELD sent us to investigate before this whole mess started,” Stark answered.  “We’ve figured out what was stolen.”

Surprisingly it was Jane who took over the explanation when Stark faltered.  Her expression and the way her hand was curled around Thor’s sent an ominous feeling curling through Phil’s stomach.  “I analyzed the readings,” she said.  “The energy levels at the warehouse were almost exactly the same as readings I took when Thor used the Bifrost to get to Earth.  I think they built a device that can open an Einstein-Rosen bridge.”

Out of all of the things Phil had considered as potential Doomsday devices that AIM could have been building, an Einstein-Rosen bridge hadn’t even been on the list.  Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath as to calm the nausea that rolled through him as the implications of Anderson having control of the AIM device hit.  Phil could feel Clint tense beside him, tension thickening the air.

“Why would Anderson want access to the Bifrost?” Natasha’s voice asked and almost everyone startled and snapped their eyes to where she’d slipped into the room; the only reason Phil hadn’t was because he was used to her sudden appearances by now.  “I thought Heimdall monitored everyone who travelled through it?”

“He does indeed,” Thor said, nodding solemnly.  “Heimdall also sees all in the nine realms.  No being can travel the Bifrost without Heimdall knowing.”

“So why the hell _does_ Anderson want it?” Stark asked, echoing Natasha’s question as he began to pace near the window.

“There is only one world along the Bifrost that Anderson would know,” Bruce said thoughtfully.  “Asgard.”

Thor frowned.  “Asgard is too heavily defended for an assault to be successful,” he said.  “What does he hope to accomplish?”

“Something,” Stark said, the expression in his dark eyes sardonic.  “We just don’t know what it is yet.”

Phil nodded.  “Anderson definitely has a reason for stealing the device,” he agreed grimly.  “Everything he and Cerberus have done so far – assassinating Senator Pierce, taking over SHIELD – has taken time, planning and resources.  Whatever they’re using the bridge for won’t be an assault they know is doomed to fail.”

“The HYDRA device,” Clint said suddenly, sitting up, and Phil felt his blood turn to ice.  Clint turned wide eyes towards him as everyone else froze in place.  “Cerberus has access to SHIELD.  They have the HYDRA device.”

“Well, shit,” Stark said.

“I don’t understand what they need the HYDRA device for,” Natasha said, frowning.  “If they have the bridge, why would they need to teleport?”

“The HYDRA device was responsible for hiding Eir from Heimdall’s gaze,” Phil said, Cerberus’ plan falling into place in his mind.  “If Heimdall can’t see them, Cerberus can use a bridge to go anywhere in the nine realms.”

“Not just the nine realms,” Bruce said softly.

“We are… going to need a plan,” Stark said.

Phil let out a slow breath.  “Yes,” he replied.  “We are.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this plot has ended up being a little more complicated than I thought ;) Although, hopefully we're not too far from the end now! :)
> 
> Warnings for a few swear words.

“So, just to make sure I understand,” Pepper said, looking more unsettled than Phil had ever seen her.  “Anderson has the ability to create an Einstein-Rosen bridge?  How do we deal with that?”

Dawn was just lightening the sky and everyone was gathered in the lounge clutching various cups of tea and coffee and looking grim.  After Phil’s conversation with Jane, Bruce and Stark, they’d woken everyone else and told them about the device from the AIM warehouse and its implications.  Phil’s mind was still whirling as he mapped contingencies and he’d caught himself twice turning to the side to bark orders at Sitwell or a junior agent.  He just couldn’t help but feel they were missing the bigger picture somehow.

“We deal with it by finding a way to stop Anderson,” Steve said resolutely in answer to Pepper’s question, shaking Phil out of his thoughts and back to the present.

“Yes, but _how_?” Stark said, pacing up and down as he fiddled with the tablet computer in his hands.  “ _How_ do you stop someone opening an Einstein-Rosen bridge?”

“He’d need a facility,” Bruce broke in.  “The bridge would need a source of negative energy density to hold it open and a large, constant energy source.  Not to mention the exotic matter would require shielding.”

Jane was nodding along from where she stood between Bruce and Thor.  “He’ll also need fairly specialized equipment,” she said.  “Most of my research since New Mexico was centered on observing the effects of the bridges and I’ve had to build half my instruments from scratch.”

“That will take time,” Bruce said.  “We can…”

“Regardless of the ease of it, his ability to access the Bifrost does not matter,” Eir interrupted, stepping forward; Phil noted absently that the two other valkyries shifted to cover her back.  “He cannot gain entry into Asgard.  It is not possible.”

Thor cut in before Stark could do more than open his mouth.  “The Lady Eir is correct,” he said.  “Even if these people control the device that would hide them from Heimdall’s gaze, only those with the All-Father’s blessing may enter Asgard.  Heimdall himself stands as gate-keeper.”

“So you’re saying no one’s ever snuck into Asgard before without permission?  Ever?” Clint asked skeptically.

For a moment, Thor looked abashed.  “Only once,” he admitted.  “While I was exiled to Earth, frost giants entered Asgard by means Heimdall could not prevent, but there is no possibility of Anderson achieving the same.”

“Why not?” Natasha asked.

“Because it was Loki who let them in,” Thor answered, his expression hard-edged and grim and his eyes full of sadness.

There was a moment of silence as everyone took in Thor’s words.  Phil filed the information away with the rest of the happenings in New Mexico and realized Loki had been far more involved in recent events than just his temper tantrum involving New York.  Phil had suspected, but he hadn’t known.

“So if Anderson and Cerberus can’t actually _get_ into Asgard, even with the HYDRA device, then why the hell do they need a bridge?” Clint asked.

“There are other world the Bifrost connects to,” Thor replied.  “But perhaps it is more the case that these people do not know.”

Part of Phil’s mind was still insisting they were missing the bigger picture and he tuned out the argument that started when Stark opened his mouth and Steve disagreed.  Gaining control of SHIELD had given Cerberus access to the HYDRA device, that much was definitely true, but there were easier ways Cerberus could have done the same.  Just like assassinating Senator Pierce.  Shootings were very public and messy and there were ways of making death look like an accident.  Phil couldn’t deny that the way Cerberus had orchestrated things had gained them SHEILD while eliminating a threat to them – it just seemed a little extravagant for Cerberus’ usual style.  These were people that used shadows as camouflage so that not even SHIELD had known they’d existed.

SHIELD was a powerful organization and with control of it, Cerberus would be able to do anything they wanted to do.  It was just that something about it didn’t sit right with Phil.  Cerberus _had_ to know that there were agents among SHIELD that would have a personal loyalty to Fury and the senior agents wouldn’t just accept a new Director, no matter who was giving the orders.  Not to mention that after the last time, Anderson would know the Avengers wouldn’t just sit back without resisting.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Phil hissed as he realized what he was missing.  He was vaguely aware of the argument around him falling silent.

“Shit, Phil,” Clint said, clearly having picked up on Phil’s thoughts through the link.

“Do you want to share it with the rest of the class, Agent?” Stark said, his dark eyes watching them both worriedly.

Phil cleared his throat and met both Stark and Steve’s eyes.  “I know what Cerberus is plotting,” he said.  “I know how they’re planning on gaining access to Asgard.”

“How?” Steve demanded.

“By pretending to be the Avengers,” Phil replied.

The room erupted into shouting and swearing.  Phil calmly waited for the noise to subside a little, before he started to explain.  “Ever since Thor’s return, the Avengers have had Odin’s permission to visit Asgard.  SHIELD was planning some sort of diplomatic visit and it wouldn’t be hard for Anderson or Cerberus to get ahold of that information,” he said as succinctly as he could.  “Once Cerberus has access to the bridge and therefore Asgard, they can use the HYDRA device and the same shape-shifting technology they used to frame Clint to pretend to be the Avengers.  Then they could steal anything they wanted from Asgard and SHIELD and the Avengers would be blamed for it.”

Stark swore loudly when Phil had finished.  “That makes a terrifying amount of sense,” he agreed, his sharp brown eyes glancing towards Phil.  “But you said shape-shifting technology.  I thought you said the assassin who framed Clint was a mutant?”

Phil nodded.  “I assumed he was,” he said.  “But Cerberus doesn’t really seem like the type of organization to work with an entire team of mutants and I have heard rumours of a military research project that could fit.”

“Framing Clint for the assassination of Senator Pierce was a practice run, wasn’t it?” Steve said.  “That’s why they made it as public as possible.  To see if they could get away with it.”

“So how to do we stop Cerberus getting to Asgard?” Clint asked.

Stark snapped his fingers.  “We start by finding Anderson’s super-secret lair.  He needs power sources and equipment and we can track that.”

“He also needs time,” Bruce added.  “It’s not easy finding some of this stuff.”

Phil felt the link in the back of his mind shiver and he immediately moved towards Clint.  Uncaring of the audience, he reached out to curl his hand around the side of Clint’s neck, his thumb gently stroking Clint’s cheek.  Phil was acutely aware of how Stark and Bruce’s words had reminded Clint of the way he’d built the underground lab under Loki’s control.  _Want to step outside for a minute?_ Phil asked silently.

_No, I…_ Clint took a shuddering breath.  _I’ll be fine._

Knowing the definition of the word ‘fine’ when Clint applied it to himself, Phil slid his hand down Clint’s arm as he moved to stand beside the archer, but didn’t push the issue.  Curling their fingers together, Phil tugged Clint until they were standing pressed together shoulder to shoulder.  Clint let out a slow breath, his fingers squeezing Phil’s briefly.

“Are you lovebirds finished with the PDA now?” Stark asked.  “We need to plan.”

“Fuck off, Stark,” Clint muttered, his voice rough.

“You’re going about the plan the wrong way, anyway,” Natasha cut in.  “Every move Anderson and Cerberus have made has been precise and thought out.  They wouldn’t have stolen either device until they had a place set up to use them.”

Pepper nodded grimly.  “It’s the best way to stay ahead of the competition,” she agreed.  “Is there any way we can track the sales of the more unusual components?”

“We don’t need to,” Natasha said, interrupting Stark before he could answer.  “I already know where they are.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Stark demanded as everyone but Clint and Phil stared at Natasha in surprise.  Phil attempted to hide a smirk as he followed Natasha’s simple logic to its conclusion, but beside him, Clint had no such restraint.

“Why go through all the trouble of building your own facility when you can use someone else’s?” Natasha said.

“I didn’t think SHIELD had that kind of capability,” Bruce said, looking faintly confused.

Clint snorted.  “Anderson would know SHIELD would be the first place we’d look,” he said.  “He’d also know there’s only one place we _wouldn’t_ look, mainly because we’ve already searched it.”

Stark and Steve looked at him sharply.  “You mean…” Steve said.

“Honduras,” Phil answered the half-finished question.  “The AIM warehouse.”

“Great,” Stark muttered, before moving to the couch and thumping down on it.  Shoving his feet up on the small coffee table, he glared up at Phil.  “Any other good news?”

“Tony…” Steve said with a glare in the billionaire’s direction.  “That’s not helping.”

“What we need,” Pepper said firmly, with her own glare in Stark’s direction, “is a way into Central America without Cerberus or Anderson finding out.  I doubt the trick of landing the jet in multiple countries is going to work this time.  The second anyone associated with the Avengers lands anywhere in Central America, Anderson’s going to know that we know what he’s up to.”

“He’s also not going to wait very long to open the bridge,” Bruce added.  “Not when he has everything he needs.”

Eir had a quick word to Thor before stepping forward again.  “I and my sisters will return to Asgard to warn the All-Father of the plot against you,” she said.  “We will also stand guard with Heimdall at the gate.”

“Okay,” Stark agreed, nodded.  “But that still doesn’t help us _get_ to the AIM warehouse.”

Phil let out a sigh.  “If we can get close enough, you and Thor can just fly in,” he said.  “And I think I have a contact that can help the rest of the team over the border.”

He paused, turning to glance at Clint.  “I think it’s also time we contacted Fury.”

 

 

Phil blinked awake, unsure of what had woken him.  For a second, the urge to close his eyes and sink back down into the large, soft bed was almost too alluring, but his instincts had woken him for a reason.  Turning his head, he glanced at the archer curled beside him, but it wasn’t Clint that had woken him.  The other agent was relaxed in untroubled sleep, looking softer than he did when he was awake and somehow younger, as if some of the pain of his past had faded away.  Carefully, Phil shifted to get up and turned back to kiss Clint on the temple as the archer rolled towards him and blinked groggily.

“Phil?” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

“Go back to sleep,” Phil told him softly.

Clint grunted in reply and burrowed deeper into the blankets just as there was a soft knock at the door.  Phil moved to open it, somehow unsurprised to see Eir on the other side.  “I am sorry to disturb you and your archer, Son of Coul,” she said quietly.  “But I wished a word with you before my return to Asgard.”

“Sure,” Phil said, opening the door wider as he glanced behind him to see a now wide awake Clint.  “Come in.”

Eir smiled her thanks in reply.  Phil offered her the only chair in the room and took a seat on the bed, feeling the mattress shift as Clint sat up behind him.  “I’m guessing this is the talk you wanted to have about my newfound abilities?” Phil said.

“You are as perceptive as always,” Eir said with a smile, before it faded.  “I will attempt to explain as simply as possible, although in truth, magic is more complicated and inexact than I would sometimes wish.”

Eir paused for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts.  “When I use magic to heal, I have a limited ability to see within the mind of the one I am healing,” she said.  “For most, I see little more than an impression of spirit, but on occasion it is a deeper magic that resonates.  I saw this magic within you, Phillip.”

“Magic?” Phil echoed, stunned.  “I don’t have magic.”

Regarding him with a soft expression, Eir smiled gently.  “You do, Phillip.  There is no mistaking what I saw,” she said.  “And more than that, I recognized your bloodline.  Hidden as it may have been, your magic is descended from the Goddess Freyja herself.”

To say that Phil was shocked by the revelation would have been an understatement.  “I… what?” he said.

“You are one of the bloodline once descended from Freyja, Son of Coul,” Eir said.

“Looks like Thor’s not the only demigod on the team now, huh?” Clint quipped from behind him.

“Not a demigod, but more than human,” Eir corrected.

Phil felt the mattress shift again as Clint moved and the warmth of the other man pressed against Phil’s back as Clint’s arms slid under his and around his chest.  He was grateful for the comfort as he struggled to process what Eir had told him.  _Hey, are you okay?_ Clint asked, the words sounding subdued in Phil’s head.

_Yeah,_ Phil sent back.  _It’s just… me?_

_Why not you?_

Not sure how to answer that, Phil turned his attention back to Eir.  “So what does this mean?” he asked after clearing his throat.

Eir smiled again, as if to reassure him.  “It is nothing you need to fear, my friend,” she said.  “You have mostly seen the extent of your magic already.  I do not know if it was the effects of the Tesseract or an ability unique to you, but most of your magic is directed inward and of that you have already have an instinctual control.  With training, you may be able to gain more precision with your ability to move objects without touching them and perhaps even be able to alter your appearance.  However, I fear most of your magic will be restricted to… I think it would be best to describe it as a different set of senses, much like the link you and your archer share.”

Phil nodded, trying to take it all in.  The more Eir explained, the more Phil realized the weird sensation that had saved his life in Paris had been due to his… magic.  It was a little surreal to think about, even when Phil dealt with strange on a daily basis for SHIELD.  However, Phil couldn’t deny the ability would probably end up being very useful.  It was just… magic.  Him?

_It’s just like the link and you can’t deny that’s kind of cool,_ Clint sent, his thoughts warm and reassuring.  _And just think – now you have a whole_ new _set of senses and instincts to torture the junior agents with.  They’ll be convinced you’re omnipotent._

He couldn’t help smiling at Clint’s sense of mischief.  _I’ll be able to find your nest in the vents too, no matter where you hide it,_ he reminded the archer.

_You do that anyway_ , Clint replied, resting his chin on Phil’s shoulder.  _Feel better?_

“I will leave you both alone,” Eir said, rising to her feet gracefully.  “But should you need anything, my friend, you need only to ask.”

“Thank you,” Phil said.

Eir smiled again and quietly slipped out the door.  “Are you okay?” Clint asked softly in the silence that followed.

Phil let out a breath before leaning some of his weight back against Clint.  “Apparently, I’m magic,” he said dryly.

Clint huffed out a laugh.  “You’re not exactly Harry Potter.”

The archer shifted until Clint could lean around and look Phil in the face.  Phil blinked and raised an eyebrow in question.  Clint rolled his eyes.  “Seriously?” Clint said.  “You can deal with coming back from the dead, but a little magic freaks you out?”

“I didn’t die, Clint,” he replied softly, shifting as well until Clint was half-sprawled across his lap.

“You were barely breathing until a valkyrie used magic to stop you bleeding all over the floor,” Clint said, his words aiming for flippant and his eyes playful, but there was still something raw and pained underneath.  Phil doubted that feeling would ever completely leave either of them.

“I guess when you put it that way, a little magic doesn’t seem so bad,” he said, reaching out to wrap his arms around Clint.  “Although, I’m not looking forward to explaining this to Fury.”

Clint snorted.  “See?  _That’s_ the part you should be scared about.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Okay, do you want the bad news first or the truly shitty?”

Despite the words, Phil smiled at the sound of Sitwell’s acerbic voice on the other end of the phone.  “You couldn’t have figured out how to bring me some good news?” he replied.

“You’re not dead yet,” Sitwell said.  “How’s that for good news?”

Phil shivered a little at the sharp breeze coming in off the ocean, too tense to really enjoy the view of the ocean and mountains surrounding one of the smaller runways of Tivat Airport.  Behind him, Stark’s jet waited, ready for the short trip from Montenegro to Morocco, where Phil and the rest of the Avengers would meet one of Phil’s old contacts who would hopefully take them the rest of the way to Honduras.  He wasn’t entirely convinced their plan would work, but so far it was their best chance of getting into Honduras without Anderson finding out.

Shaking off his doubts, Phil rolled his eyes.  “Okay, hit me with the bad news.”

“I’ve been talking to some of my contacts and you’re not going to like what they had to say,” Sitwell told him.  “Anderson is definitely in Central America right now.  He also appears to have brought an entire army with him.”  Sitwell paused and sighed.  “It’s a complete mess.  You people neck deep in fucking trouble.”

Phil bit back what might have been a sigh mixed with a curse.  “Please tell me the other news isn’t worse than that,” he said.

“Well, that depends on your point of view,” Sitwell replied.  “How close to the border with Nicaragua are you going _exactly_?”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Phil sighed.  “Why do you ask?”

“Well, it just so happens that a few days ago a group of foreigners disappeared into the jungle.  A few hours later, there was a small fire fight and the foreigners were reported to have been snatched by a splinter group of anti-Honduran extremists,” Sitwell said.

“Great,” Phil growled.  “I suppose it’s too much to hope that it was Anderson and his thugs who were snatched?”

Sitwell snorted.  “You really think that bastard is going to let a group of rebels armed with AK’s get the better of him?” he said.  “Although, you’re lucky – it’s harvest season, so most of the rebels are tending their farms right now.  If you’re quick, you should be able to get in and out without drawing their attention.”

“I’ll warn everyone to be careful,” Phil said.

“Good,” Sitwell replied.  “Because there’s a certain one-eyed bastard who’s going to be really pissed if anything happens to you.”

Phil blinked.  “You’ve spoken to Fury?” he said.

“Yeah, I did.  I’ve been relegated to messenger boy again for you two.  You know, I do have enough things to do on my own.  Someone has to help Hill cover your asses,” Sitwell grumbled.

“What did Fury say?” Phil asked, unable to stop the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at Sitwell’s words.

“Apparently, he’s been stalking members of the World Security Council,” Sitwell answered.  “I didn’t ask for details.  But he does want to meet you after you’ve stopped Anderson opening that bridge.  Fury thinks he has a way of finally stopping Cerberus.”

Phil nodded, even though Sitwell couldn’t see it.  It was a relief to know that Fury was up to his old tricks, even if he was on his own this time without SHIELD or Phil for backup.  “I’ll let you know when we’ve neutralized the base in Honduras,” he said.

“You know, there are times when I really don’t want to know which small, defenseless country you and the Avengers are going to blow up next,” Sitwell groused.  “I think this is one of those times.”

“Duly noted.  And Jasper?  Thank you,” Phil said, meaning it more than the other agent probably knew.

“Oh, don’t go being all grateful now, Coulson,” Sitwell replied.  “You know I hate it when you get all mushy.”  Then he hung up.

Phil let out a chuckle as he slid his phone back into his pocket.  He could still feel the clinging threads of the tangle web Cerberus had weaved around them, but for the first time in too long, Cerberus weren’t the only ones making plans.  Cerberus had played their hand.  It was time for Phil and the Avengers to play theirs.

 

 

Agadir, Morocco was warm and dry and Phil wasn’t really surprised to find himself standing on yet another runway.  Pepper had already departed in the jet, headed for New York; the jet had barely stopped in Morocco, acting as if they only needed to refuel and hopefully it would be enough of a distraction that Anderson wouldn’t realize what they were up to until it was too late for him to stop them.  They didn’t have much time before Phil’s contacts would arrive, so Phil forced himself to turn away from scanning the horizon for threats.

Glancing over at the others, Phil saw Thor was hovering worriedly over Jane as she spoke to Bruce, much to Jane’s growing annoyance judging by her expression.  Despite what both Stark and Bruce said, Jane was their expert on Einstein-Rosen bridges, so it had been reluctantly decided that Jane would come with them to Honduras rather than accompany Pepper back to New York.  Thor hadn’t been happy with the idea and was now insisting on escorting Jane the whole way instead of flying on ahead with Stark.

At least their cover should hold.  Phil had worked with the pilots coming to meet them on and off for years.  As far as the pilots were concerned, Phil was a soldier turned mercenary whose team mostly operated in and around South America.  Considering the pilots used their cargo charter business mostly to smuggle goods and people in and out of the same region, it had always worked out well for SHIELD, both as a source of information and as a way in and out of trouble without raising flags.  The pilots knew Clint and Natasha as Phil’s mercenary team and hopefully it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for them to think Steve and Thor were the same.

Phil himself had mistaken Thor for a mercenary the first time they had met and thanks mostly to Natasha, the Thunder God was dressed in dark cargo pants and a simple t-shirt, his long hair pulled back from his face in a ponytail and his hammer and cape nowhere in sight.  Clint, Steve and Natasha were dressed mostly the same and visibly armed and Steve now sported rough stubble and a cap that would hopefully stop him from being too recognizable.  Neither Jane nor Bruce would be able to pass as mercenaries, so Stark had come up with the idea of having them pose as scientists travelling to Central America to study volcanoes.

Heading towards the gear, Phil grabbed one of the duffle bags and prepared to become Travis Murdoch, mercenary-for-hire.  It was a little like becoming Agent Coulson, unassuming bureaucrat, except instead of masking his abilities, he simply stripped the layers away.  Phil pulled a black t-shirt out of the bag and casually peeled off the shirt and sweater he’d been wearing.  He could feel Clint’s eyes on him and resisted the urge to take his time with pulling on the t-shirt.  Phil already wore dark cargo pants like the others and the t-shirt was tight enough to show his muscle and the sleeves short enough to reveal a hint of his Ranger tattoo.  Combined with the thick watch on his wrist and the familiar weight of a gun holstered on his thigh, Phil knew he looked the part.  It was easy enough to let himself swagger a little as he walked and keep his mannerisms rough like the soldier he had once been.

Slipping on a pair of sunglasses, Phil turned and was surprised to find Steve, Bruce and Stark all staring at him.  Steve’s gaze was sharply assessing, but when he caught Phil looking, he simply smiled and nodded.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Clint said, looking up from his own gear, as Stark and Bruce continued to stare at Phil.

“Is what something?” Bruce asked.

“Watching Phil drop the suit,” Clint replied with a grin, his gaze hot and approving.

“Showing how dangerous he can be instead of hiding it,” Natasha added.

_Glad I meet your approval_ , Phil sent Clint dryly.

_Are you kidding?_ Clint replied.  _The first time I saw you like this, I thought it was Christmas._

Phil blinked in surprise.  _What… why?_

_Because it was the first time I realized that underneath the suit you were just as human as the rest of us,_ Clint told him.

_Strangely, I’ve always been human._

_Yeah, I know.  But seeing it was sort of the first glimpse I ever had at thinking I would have a chance with you._   There was something in Clint’s gaze that Phil couldn’t quite decipher, but it made Phil want to reassure the other man.  Clint might not have realized it at the time or for a long while afterwards, but he’d had Phil’s attention almost from the first second they’d met.  Back then, Clint had been full of attitude and unsure of his own worth, but Phil had been captivated anyway and the years had only given Phil more reasons to love the archer.

Phil’s watch beeped, the alarm jolting Phil out of his thoughts.  “Stark, you’d better get going,” he said.  “The plane should be here soon.  We’ll meet you at the prearranged coordinates after we land.”

Stark nodded as he clanked forward, before slapping down the faceplate of his suit.  “I’ll meet you guys at the party,” he said in Iron Man’s distorted voice.

He flew up and off as Phil turned to Steve and Thor.  “Thor, Cap,” Phil said.  “Keep your heads down and an eye on Jane and Bruce.”

Thor nodded gravely.  “We will indeed, Son of Coul.”

“What, no orders for me?” Clint quipped as he dumped the last of his gear in the pile off to the side of the runway.

“Would you actually follow them?” Phil asked dryly.

Clint grinned impishly.  Then he walked over to Phil and yanked him forward with a handful of Phil’s t-shirt.  The kiss was hot, dirty and all too short.  “For luck,” Clint said with a smirk as he pulled away.

Ten minutes later, Phil was watching a battered-looking cargo plane come in to land.  As soon as the plane taxied to a stop, the back ramp descended and Phil saw the familiar figure of one of his contacts walk out to meet them.  “Murdoch, you bastard, how are ya?” the man called out in greeting.  “I haven’t heard from you in months!”

Phil shrugged noncommittally as the rough-looking pilot sauntered towards him.  Connelly’s once muscular frame was turning to fat and he permanently looked like he needed a shave and his clothes needed a wash, but the man was reliable – if you paid him enough.  “I’ve been keepin’ busy,” Phil drawled in answer, directing a mocking salute towards the cockpit and Connelly’s copilot.

Connelly slapped him on the back.  “I see you’ve expanded the enterprise,” he grinned, nodding towards Steve and Thor who were loading the gear into the plane.  “Although, that one,” Connelly added, nodding towards Steve, “looks so fresh out of the military, the shine’s still on him.”

Phil shrugged again.  “Takes orders well though,” he said, smirking at the pilot.

Connelly snickered and slapped Phil on the shoulder again.  “I would say something about your sudden preference for blondes,” he said, gesturing towards the others and Phil almost laughed when he realized that Natasha was still blonde too.  “But I like my balls where they are.”

Rolling his eyes, something he wouldn’t do as the unflappable Agent Coulson, Phil followed Connelly and the others onboard.  Connelly raised the ramp and Phil kept following as he headed for the cockpit.  He felt the hum around him as the engines came to life and took mental notes of all the cargo crates in the hold.  Guns mostly, by the look of things, but there were some other supplies too.

The copilot looked up when they reached the cockpit and Phil nodded in greeting.  “Sergei,” he said.

“Murdoch,” the other man replied.

Reaching into his pocket, Phil pulled out a thick envelope and tossed it towards Connelly, bracing himself as Sergei smoothly went through the motions of take-off.  “You get the rest when we land,” Phil said.  “You know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connelly said, but he made no other protest.  Then he glanced up with a slightly mad grin.  “So…” he drawled.  “Last I heard you were still somewhere deep in Colombia.  You going to give me a hint as to why you suddenly turned up in Morocco with the two nerds back there?”

Phil shrugged, playing it deliberately casual.  “They’re scientists and they want to study a volcano or something,” he said.  “They paid me a large fee to take them to Central America, so I stopped asking questions.”

Connelly snorted.  “They paid you the whole fee upfront?” he said.  “They’re going to get eaten alive down there.”

“Not my business,” Phil said.  “Let me know when we get close to landing.”

He heard Connelly mutter his agreement as he ducked his head and walked back towards the hold and Clint and his team.  Wordlessly, Natasha and Clint slid sideways on the bench seat along the wall of the hold and made room for Phil to sit between them.  Nodding his thanks as he took the offered seat, Phil frowned a little in confusion at the surprised looks he was getting from Thor, Steve, Jane and Bruce.  _What’s going on?_ he sent to Clint, not really wanting to shout over the noise of the engines.

Clint’s thoughts were amused when they brushed Phil’s.  _The overwhelming realization that the suit isn’t Agent Coulson’s uniform, but his disguise_ , he replied.

Not quite sure how to take Clint’s words, Phil just shrugged, letting his shoulders sink back against the wall behind him.  A second later, he felt two hands sliding down his shoulder and chest, as if smoothing the fabric of his t-shirt.  Turning to look at Clint, he tried to work out what the archer was up to, but Clint just flashed him an innocent smile and patted Phil’s stomach.  The he snuggled against Phil and shut his eyes.  _Wake me up when we get to Honduras_ , he sent.

Phil sighed.  _Sure_.

 

 

Honduras was as hot, sticky and irritating as every other Central American country Phil had ever ‘visited’.  The small, cracked runway they’d landed on was surrounded by dense, green tropical vegetation and clearly not used by anyone other than smugglers.  Grass grew up between the cracks in the tarmac and Phil had barely stepped out of the plane, but he was still immediately conscious of both the humidity and the small biting insects.  The whole scene was desperately familiar despite the fact Phil was pretty sure he’d never been to this particular airstrip before.  It was almost as if the same interior decorator had designed most of Central America with little regard for geopolitical boundaries of any description.  A broad river ran about ten feet from the end of the runway and in the distance, Phil could hear the distant thunder of a small waterfall.  Even the rich earthy smell of the vegetation was somewhat pleasant.

Turning away from the jungle, Phil glanced at Connelly and Sergei, who had unpacked most of the crates they had in the hold.  They were standing around, Connelly talking into a large, bulky satellite phone and clearly waiting for the buyers they’d smuggled in the guns for.  Phil was pretty sure he didn’t want to meet whoever it was, particularly this close to the border with Nicaragua and resolved to get out of there as soon as possible.  He blinked when Sergei turned to look and him and then walked over.  As soon as he was within speaking distance, Sergei jerked his head towards Jane and Bruce.  “You might want to get those two out of here,” he said in his faintly accented voice.  “The crates are for a group of anti-Honduran rebels who have a knack for kidnapping.  You don’t want to be around when they get here.”

“Thanks,” Phil replied.

Sergei shrugged.  “I like you.  You’re interesting,” he said with a sudden, sharp grin.  “I’d be sad if you got shot in the head.”

Phil rolled his eyes.  “You’re a real sweetheart, Sergei.”

Chuckling, Sergei waved goodbye and headed back to where Connelly was standing.  The plan had been to wait until Connelly and Sergei had left before heading towards the AIM warehouse on foot, but if the deserted landing strip was about to be the meeting place for rebels, they’d have to leave.  _Clint, any sign of Stark?_ Phil sent via the link.  _We’re going to need to get out of here pretty quickly._

_No word from Stark yet,_ Clint replied.  _Should I get Natasha looking for transport?_

_Do you really think even she would be able to find something in the middle of the jungle?_ Phil asked dryly.

Clint’s thoughts were amused and almost reproachful.  _She did in Budapest.  And Rio.  And in the middle of Siberia._

Phil thought for a minute, but decided it was probably easier to go with a simpler solution.  He walked close enough to Clint and the others to be out of earshot of Connelly and Sergei.  “We need to gather up the gear and get out of here,” he said.

“Problems?” Steve asked.

“Rebels are en route and we really don’t want to be around when we get here,” Phil answered.  “Besides, it only a couple of hours before sundown and we have a warehouse to find.”


	13. Chapter 13

By the time they reached the AIM warehouse on the outskirts of Orocuina, the fast tropical twilight was darkening the sky.  The humidity was still thick in the air, making Phil’s t-shirt stick to his skin with sweat and he absently rubbed his damp palm against his pants.  It was easy to keep out of sight in the growing shadows and on this side of town people weren’t likely to pay much attention to them anyway.  There was a small cantina nearby, spilling light and noise.  Its sign was faded and almost unreadable, but the red and white checked clothes on the tables were almost garishly clean.  Baskets and old crates seemed littered almost everywhere for no apparent purpose and Phil could hear the bustle coming from the nearby market.  Smoke was heavy in the thick air as it drifted over from a barbeque not too far away, its owner shouting something in Spanish.

The warehouse itself was dilapidated, as those kinds of buildings always were and there was no sign that Anderson or his men were actually inside.  _You ever wonder if the bad guys would ever prefer warehouses that actually have intact windows?_ Clint sent over the link, his thoughts mirroring Phil’s.

_But then they wouldn’t be able to pretend to be deranged Bond villains,_ Phil replied dryly, fighting a small smile.

Movement caught the corner of his eye and acting on instinct, Phil spun and had his gun leveled on the intruder before he even registered who it was.  Stark, faceplate of his suit up, raised his hands almost comically.  “What took you so long?” Stark asked as Phil lowered his weapon and Stark lowered his arms.  “How hard could it be to find a simple set of GPS coordinates?”

Clint ghosted out of the shadows and Phil had to bite back a smirk at the way Stark jumped slightly, even in the suit.  Clint was still dressed in black cargos and a simple t-shirt, but his quiver was clearly visible over his shoulder and his bow was in his hand.  “Well, not all of us can fly Stark,” he said.  “Some of us actually had to walk here through the jungle.”

Stark rolled his eyes.  “So, are you sure Anderson’s around?  Because this place has been pretty quiet.”

Phil had to admit that there were no obvious signs to distinguish the warehouse as occupied, but Phil knew better than to assume that meant the warehouse was actually empty.  His eyes automatically slid to Clint, knowing that if Anderson was there, Clint had probably seen something.  “Well, Stark, for a deserted warehouse, there does seem to be a lot of fresh boot prints around,” Clint drawled, before those sharp, blue eyes glanced over at Phil.  “I’d guess they’re no more than about half a day old,” he added as Steve and Natasha stepped out of the shadows to join them.

Both Steve and Natasha wore their field suits, although in concession to the heat, Steve wasn’t wearing his cowl.  “I think we can assume Anderson made it here, then,” Steve said.  “Do we have a plan of attack?”

Phil thought about the torch and lock-picks in his pockets as his eyes slid over the way Steve was settling his shield in his grip and Natasha was checking over her guns.  He wanted a closer look at what Anderson was up to, particularly before he sent Bruce or Jane anywhere near the warehouse because he didn’t want to risk Bruce hulking out at the wrong moment or Thor doing something stupid because his girlfriend was in danger.  Thankfully, unlike Stark, infiltration was something Phil had always been good at.  “I want a closer look at what’s going on inside,” Phil said.

Steve nodded.  “Stark and I will stay here and check the perimeter in case Anderson had men or equipment off-sight,” he said.  “I doubt we can drag Thor away from Dr. Foster right now, so he can keep an eye on her and Bruce.  That leaves you, Hawkeye and Black Widow free to take a look inside the warehouse.  We’ll be right outside if you need backup.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Phil said with a nod, trying to remain as professional as possible, even though his inner child seemed to be making another inopportune moment to burst out again at the thought of Captain America giving Phil orders like he was one of the Howling Commandos.  Or an Avenger, if Phil thought about it, which he still wasn’t sure he unofficially wasn’t.

He glanced over to find Clint grinning at him, his eyes dancing with mischief.  The only flaw to sharing a link with the archer was that Clint could now hear every damn fanboyish thought Phil had.  His pride would never be the same.  Thankfully, Clint kept whatever thoughts he had about Phil’s internal squeeing to himself.  “After you, boss,” he said instead.

Keeping low, Phil slipped into the familiar pattern and instincts of a mission, using the tricks he’d learnt in the Rangers and honed in the years since.  He might not have been as silent as Natasha, but his boots barely made a sound as he crossed the open space outside the warehouse, slipping from shadow to shadow like a ghost.  He drew his gun, the weapon a comforting weight in his hand, Clint and Natasha constant shadows by his side.  Natasha was the first to reach the side door to the warehouse and within seconds she had the lock and door open, revealing an unstable staircase that smelt like urine and rotting rubbish.  Phil grimaced, breathing shallowly as the humidity seemed to make the smell somehow worse.

He didn’t hesitate as he followed Natasha inside the dark warehouse, his gun held loosely in front of him and his eyes watchful.  The door at the top of the stairs looked as if it had been wedged open and he paused long enough to glance towards Clint.  _Heading up,_ the archer said, sliding his eyes towards Natasha in silent communication.

Phil and Natasha continued on along the ground floor, heading deeper into the warehouse.  There was little sign of any activity in the building so far and Phil couldn’t help the suspicion that began to curl through his stomach.  Dropping into a crouch as he spotted the light of a torch around the corner, Phil ducked down behind what looked like an old workbench as a guard walked into sight.  The man was visibly armed and reminded Phil of the mercenaries Anderson had had guarding him in Thailand.  He stayed crouched behind the workbench until the guard had passed by.  As soon as he was out of sight, Phil carefully rose from his crouch and scanned the dark for any other signs of light or movement.

Making it the rest of the way inside the warehouse was surprisingly easy.  He and Natasha only had to avoid one more guard, which they both did effortlessly.  What they found, however, was far more dangerous.  The inside of the warehouse had been gutted, with whatever machinery that had remained now sitting in rusting piles of scrap in the corners.  The space was dominated by a large, complicated-looking set up that looked rather similar to the photos Phil had seen of the device Selvig and Loki had built to open the portal for the Chitauri, which was more than a little chilling.  The device definitely hadn’t been in the warehouse the last time the Avengers had been there and it was sparking electricity all over the room.  The air around it shimmered with patches of the chilling ice-blue that Phil was achingly familiar with, lighting up here and there like invisible tornados were whirling around the warehouse.

Anderson himself was in the centre of it, speaking earnestly with two men who appeared to be scientists.  All three of them stood in front of a large array of computer monitors listing streams of data and judging by the tense way Anderson was gesturing, things were not going as well as planned.  Guards were stationed around the room, but none of the men appeared to be paying attention to what they should be.  Instead, all eyes seemed fixed on the bridge device and the blue energy sparking around the warehouse.  Phil watched as the shimmers of blue energy got brighter and started flickering in and out of existence faster and faster.  Sinking back into the shadows, Phil touched the radio at his ear to contact the rest of the team and hoped things weren’t as bad as they were starting to seem.  “Dr. Foster, are you picking up any readings out there?” he asked quietly.

“We’re picking up a spike in energy,” Jane replied.  “The levels are fluctuating pretty wildly, though.”

“He’s building the bridge right now, isn’t he?” Bruce’s soft voice asked.

“It’s either that or Anderson’s recreating the Frankenstein monster,” Clint quipped.

“I’ve got eyes on a device,” Phil answered.  “It’s sparking energy and electricity all over the warehouse.”

“Coulson, Stark…” Steve began, but Phil only followed the order with half his mind as Natasha appeared silently beside him.

“We need to stop them _now_ ,” she said.

“I’ve got your back,” Clint immediately said and through the link, Phil knew exactly where the archer had made himself a nest.

“Cap, there’s a second door to the north you and Stark can use.  Widow and I are to your east,” Phil relayed, before he gave Natasha a firm nod.

He moved as soon as Natasha did and guns drawn, they stepped out of the shadows.  For a second, Anderson actually looked genuinely surprised to see them.  Phil kept Anderson firmly in his sights, even as two arrows took out two of the guards closest to him.  He took out a third with two shots, before ducking behind one of the piles of scrap metal as the guards opened fire on him and Natasha.  Phil could hear the faint impacts of arrows hitting several more guards and knew Clint was doing his best to watch their backs as usual.

Suddenly hearing a noise behind him, Phil whirled, automatically bringing up his gun.  He didn’t immediately spot anyone in the darkness, but even so his instincts were screaming that he wasn’t alone.  A large, solid weight ploughed into him from his left, sending Phil sprawling painfully across the concrete floor and making him lose his grip on his gun.  Lashing out, Phil sent his elbow backwards, driving it into his attacker’s stomach.  The grip around him slackened slightly, allowing Phil to twist his body slightly in the same moment Phil’s hand touched something cold and heavy.  Not hesitating, Phil brought up the metal object and smashed his attacker across the temple.

The man went down, hard.

Hearing another sound coming from the same direction, Phil rolled fluidly onto his feet and lashed out with a kick without even thinking.  He caught a second guard in the stomach and smashed the heavy metal in his hand into the guard’s wrist as he raised a gun, before using it to break the guard’s nose and sending him crashing down to join his partner on the concrete.  As soon as the man was down, Phil dropped the metal with a clatter and scrambled for his gun, palming it as he turned back to the rest of the warehouse.

By the time Phil turned around Natasha and Clint had taken out the remaining guards.  Anderson stood in the centre of the warehouse, a faint shimmer of blue energy around him and his gun pointed at one of the whimpering scientists.  “Nobody move or I start shooting,” Anderson warned with a growl.

“And why shouldn’t I just shoot you anyway?” Natasha asked, both of her guns leveled at Anderson.

Anderson sneered at her.  “Go right ahead, Agent Romanoff,” he said.  “But you won’t achieve anything more than the unpleasant death of the good doctor here.”

Phil spotted the familiar sight of the HYDRA device near Anderson and narrowed his eyes to focus on the faint blue shield around the other man.  Without conscious thought or direction, the strange _other_ sense Phil associated with his magic slammed up and around him.  He holstered his gun back on his thigh as the scientist whimpered again.  If Anderson was using the HYDRA device to shield himself like he had in Thailand, neither bullets nor arrows would be of any use.  But something else might.

_Can I shoot him?_ Clint sent, his thoughts burning with anger and the link throbbing between them.

_He’s using the Tesseract energy to shield himself,_ Phil replied calmly.  _Your arrow wouldn’t get through.  Besides, I think I have an idea._

“You’re stalling,” Natasha said suddenly, both her gaze and her guns never wavering from Anderson.  “Why?  What do you hope to gain?”

“Reinforcements,” Phil said, stepping forward and drawing Anderson’s attention towards him.

Anderson smirked in reply.  “Did you really think I was going to take any of these second-rate mercenaries with me on a mission to another world, Agents?” he sneered, somehow encompassing the bodies of the guards with his eyes fixed on Phil and his gun never shifting from the scientist.  “I have my own team for that and they are very, very good.  They should also be arriving very, very soon.”

“Cap, Anderson has reinforcements en route, probably arriving by air,” Natasha relayed immediately.

In the distance, Phil heard the sound of gunfire and repulsor blasts, the throbbing noise of a helicopter beneath, proving why Steve and Stark had yet to make their entrance.  He could also feel the unmistakable crackle of lightening in the air.  “Yeah, yeah, we know already,” Stark’s voice grumbled over the radio.  “Those reinforcements just arrived.”

Reaching behind him surreptitiously, Phil carefully pulled out one of his hidden knives.  The strange _other_ sense was still surrounding him and with it, Phil could see the shield around Anderson as solid, crackling energy instead of faint shimmers.  Hiding a smirk of his own, Phil followed the swirling energy with his eyes until he spotted the weak point he’d been looking for.  “You can’t win!” Anderson called out.

With a smooth movement, Phil pulled back the knife and cast it in a fluid throw.  As he did, he felt a whisper of magic move through him and his palm tingled.  The knife sliced effortlessly through the shield, the hilt hitting Anderson’s wrist and directing the gun away from the terrified scientist.  The bullet went wide, slamming straight into the HYDRA device and shattering part of it.  A heartbeat later, Phil had his own gun drawn again and aimed directly at Anderson as the shield flickered and died around him.  “You were saying?” Phil said mildly.

“Phil, you are such a fucking _badass_ ,” Clint breathed reverently over the radio.

With a snarl, Anderson shifted his gun towards Phil when he realized his shield had failed.  Phil automatically dived for cover behind a pile of scrap metal as Natasha returned fire.  “Well, can the badass Super Agent come outside and help the rest of us?” Stark snapped over the radio.

The distant gunfire was getting louder, as if whoever was doing the shooting started coming in their direction – fast.  In the middle of the warehouse, the bridge device still sparked ominously and when Phil stared at it with his new _other_ sense, he saw two immense waves of pulsing blue energy straining to touch, rippling echoes of the energy shimmering in the air around the device.  “Does someone have eyes on Anderson?” Phil asked, unable to tear his eyes away from what he was seeing.

“He’s dead,” Clint replied, a dark sense of accomplishment in his voice.

“What about the bridge?” Steve said.

“The energy is spiking all over the place,” Bruce answered.  “It’s not stable.  I think the bridge is beginning to collapse in on itself.  You need to _out of there_.”

Stark cursed.  “It won’t matter if there’s anyone inside the warehouse or not,” he said.  “If the bridge fails, there will be enough energy to vapourise this entire town.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Steve said firmly.

The sparks of electricity around the warehouse were getting more and more violent and Phil could see how the two waves of energy were beginning to twist in on themselves.  Phil’s _other_ sense was screaming at him to get out of there.  “How long have we got?” he asked.

There was a beat of ominous silence over the radio.  “I’ve done a few rough calculations, but I could be wrong…” Jane started to say.

“Less than five minutes,” Stark interrupted.

“This whole thing just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” Clint muttered darkly.

“Yeah, well, it ain’t over yet, Legolas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that long train trips are rather good for working on chapters... even if I do leave them with appalling cliff hangers at the end! Sorry to everyone who's reading, but I needed to break up the last bit because it was getting huge and that just seemed like a place to do it. I hope to have the next chapter out soon!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about that cliffhanger guys! Hopefully the fact that this chapter is a little longer than the others will make up for it ;)

“Are the computers still working?” Jane asked urgently.  “The ones controlling the bridge?”

“What?” Stark said.  “No way!  You can’t…”

“So far the sparks have managed to miss them,” Phil answered, cutting Stark off.  “What was your idea, Doctor?”

“We need to connect the bridge,” Jane replied, but Phil lost the rest of the explanation as he heard a sudden and loud burst of gunfire.

He immediately ducked down behind the pile of metal scrap again as four heavily armed men burst into the main part of the warehouse.  The men cursed when they saw the device and Phil realized this was the team Anderson had been waiting for.  Phil paused, his fingers tightening reflexively on his gun when he saw the men catch sight of Anderson’s body and raise their weapons.  Ignoring whatever Stark was saying over the radio in response to Jane, Phil glanced towards Natasha, who’d taken cover nearby.  He was about to suggest a plan of attack when Steve’s worried shout interrupted him.  “Thor!”

Natasha paused and cocked her head to the side, like she was listening to something only she could hear.  When Phil realized what it was, he resisted the urge to close his eyes and groan.  A few seconds later, he felt something akin to an explosion rip through the building as Thor’s hammed punched through the wall of the warehouse with a screech of metal and a shattering of glass.  The four mercenaries shouted and dived for out of the way and Phil watched as Thor stepped through the hole he’d made, his hand stretched out to call his hammer back to him.  Dressed back in his armour and cape, the demigod made a dramatic image as a bolt of lightning lit up the patch of sky visible behind him.

Thor took one of the men out with his hammer and two arrows took out two more in quick succession as Natasha took out the last.  Jane scrambled over the rubble a second later, heading for the computers after a wide-eyed glance at the bridge device and the electricity that crackled around it like a menacing halo.  Phil was surprised to see Bruce appear behind her, but he turned his attention to Thor instead of interrupting the two scientists.

“I will remain here in case any of the other mercenaries gain entrance if you wish to join the battle outside, Son of Coul,” Thor said without Phil having to ask.

Phil nodded his thanks.  “Cap, the Widow, Hawkeye and I are heading outside to help.”

“About time,” Stark grumbled.

Turning to look behind him, Phil blinked at the grinning figure of Clint now standing beside Natasha.  Phil hadn’t even sensed him move and he rolled his eyes at the archer.  Natasha smiled, which always had the edge of something terrifying underneath, except this time Phil had the distinct impression that the smile was admiring instead.  “We’re right behind you, boss,” she said.

“Am I the only one who finds it weird that Stark needs help?” Clint quipped.  “Shouldn’t you and Cap have taken out all the bad guys already, Iron Man?”

Without needing to speak, Phil felt Natasha and Clint move to follow him as he headed for the hole Thor had made in the wall.  The moon was high in the sky, giving them around light to see what was going on and when Phil glanced out, he came face to face with a scene of chaotic destruction.  Steve was vigorously bashing his shield black-clad mercenaries while Stark was doing what he did best – pissing people off.  He had most of the mercenaries pinned down behind the rusted remains of a car and was sending repulsor blasts at them every so often as bullets pinged off his suit.

“One of the mercenaries had a… something,” Steve reported, before a trace of amusement entered his voice.  “It messed up Stark’s suit enough that now he can’t actually hit anything.”

“EMP,” Stark corrected in irritation.  “One of the mercenaries had a small EMP charge.  It wasn’t enough to shut down the suit because I’ve got defenses for that, but it did…”  Stark trailed off and made a sound like he was clearing his throat.  “…scramble my targeting systems.”

Phil felt one of his eyebrows rise even though Stark probably couldn’t see it.  “You can’t target anything with your missiles,” he translated.  “ _Is_ it just the missiles?”

“I can’t use anything but my repulsors,” Stark replied grudgingly.

“They suspected we would try to stop them,” Natasha said in the pause that followed.  “They came prepared for us.”

“We  _did_  stop them, Tash,” Clint pointed out.

“Ah… Legolas, I hate to break it to you, but there are still  _mercenaries with guns_  shooting at us,” Stark snapped.

“Shooting at  _you_ , you mean,” Clint shot back, but nevertheless fluidly nocked an arrow and aimed at the mercenaries Stark had pinned down.

“Stark, Widow and I are going to sneak around behind the mercenaries,” Phil said in as much of an attempt to break up the chatter as it was to let everyone know what he was planning.  “Hawkeye, do what you do best.”

Silently, Phil and Natasha slipped through the shadows along the side of the warehouse towards the tree line that would give them cover to sneak behind the mercenaries.  As they paused at the corner of the warehouse, waiting for a chance to move across the open space of cracked concrete between the warehouse and the tree line, Phil drew his gun and checked the clip.  “But,  _Phil_!” Clint’s voice echoed over the radio, filled with a feigned outrage.  “The thing that I’m best as isn’t something I should be doing with my team mates, let alone in the middle of a mission.  I mean, what would my fiancé say?”

Natasha snorted.  “It’s cute that you actually think you’re good at that,” she said, speaking in the half-riddles that Phil was so used to hearing between her and Clint.

“Hey!” Clint protested.  “Phil has no reason to complain about my skills!”

Stark snorted.  “I don’t think anyone on this team really wants to hear about you talk about what you and Super Agent get up to behind closed doors, Katniss,” he said.  “It’s like thinking about my parents doing it.”

“Believe it or not, Stark, I wasn’t talking about sex,” Clint said.  “Although, I’ll have you know I’m damn good at that too.  Right, Phil?”

“You’re still not any good at discretion,” Phil replied.

Entering the thick, tropical vegetation Phil paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust.  The familiar presence of Natasha was reassuring beside him, almost invisible in the shadows even though Phil knew exactly where to look.  They crept forward, approaching the mercenaries through the trees and Phil noticed the way some of the mercenaries were shooting mistrustful glances towards the warehouse.  Crouching down within striking distance, Phil paused to watch them, a growing suspicion curling through his mind.  When one of the mercenaries pulled out a small device that looked like a PDA, Phil knew they were monitoring the bridge in the same way Bruce and Jane had been.  The mercenaries were also clearly nervous that the bridge hadn’t been connected yet, although if Phil was truthful, his own mental countdown was making him nervous too.

Phil wasn’t the only one.  “How’s the bridge coming?” Steve asked and over the radio, Phil could hear the dull thud of his shield hitting something.

“Uh, I’m trying to stabilize the… containment field so we can…” Jane started, before launching into a scientific explanation Phil found it hard to follow.

He glanced over at Natasha, who simply arched an elegant eyebrow and held up a small explosive device.  Phil smiled a little and nodded.  She tossed the device towards the mercenaries and darted off through the trees.  Dirt and vegetation exploded as the device hit the ground near where the mercenaries were crouched and Phil fluidly followed Natasha into the chaos, picking off two of the mercenaries easily.

“Stark, go and help connect that bridge,” he called out.  “The Widow and I can handle the mercenaries.”

“On my way,” Stark said, lifting off the ground slightly and swooping towards the warehouse.

“Hawkeye…” Phil started as he shot a few of the bolder mercenaries.

“Got you covered,” Clint said, cutting Phil off unrepentantly.  As if to punctuate his words, an arrow thudded into the rusted car the mercenaries were using for cover and sent them scattering as the head of the arrow exploded.

“You’re going to blow up your own foot with an arrow one day,” Natasha said, gracefully spinning out of the way of a burst of gunfire as she threw another of her small charges, this one catching one of the mercenaries with a pulse of electricity.

Ducking behind a tree, Phil ejected the clip from his gun and slammed another one home as a volley of bullets raked the ground around him. He edged around the tree to see where everyone else was and felt his eyes widen as he saw the distinctive shape of a grenade flying towards him.  Moving more on instinct than by conscious decision, Phil threw himself forward and away from the tree he had been crouched behind. The world erupted a second later, making Phil’s ears ring and sending him sprawling across the ground.  Blinking as the world spun around him, Phil inched his fingers through the dirt in search of his gun.  Gunfire echoed somewhere to his right, the sounds fading in and out as he tried to restrain his grip on consciousness and he could feel the trail of warm, sticky blood dripping from his temple from the cut made by a small piece of shrapnel.

_Phil?_

Pushing himself back up into a sitting position, Phil blinked a few times to clear the way his vision blurred.   _I’m here,_  he sent back to Clint.

He reached up to gently probe at the skin underneath the warm, sticky blood and willed himself to  _focus_.  A faint feeling of nausea churned through his stomach, warning him he probably had a mild concussion, but like the pain, Phil pushed it to the back of his mind and ignored it. Spotting movement to his right, Phil surged to his feet and fired twice at the mercenary heading towards him, catching him twice in the chest. Phil shot the mercenary behind the first as well, before moving to the edge of the trees so he could get a better look at the fighting.  Natasha had efficiently taken out most of the mercenaries Stark had had pinned down and Steve was helping her fight the few that remained.  The carefully placed arrows flying through the air proved Clint was still covering them from his position near the hole in the warehouse wall.  His head throbbing, Phil braced himself against a tree and shot the mercenary trying to sneak up behind Natasha.

“How’s that bridge coming?” he asked urgently as he felt his mental countdown getting worryingly close to zero.

“We’ve managed to buy ourselves a little time,” Stark answered.  “But we’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem, Stark?” Steve asked, taking out the last mercenary with a blow from his shield.

“Ah… well, for those who aren’t experts in thermo-nuclear physics…” Stark began, his mind clearly half distracted by something else.  “Let’s just say we need another source of energy.  Whichever moron set this up thought tapping into the local power grid would be enough to supplement the missing differential once they’d set up the feedback loop… which it really, really isn’t.”

Phil holstered his gun and stepped out of the trees now that the mercenaries were dealt with.  He waved Clint off when he saw the archer frown in concern as he spotted the blood on Phil’s temple and cheek. _I’m fine.  It’s just a scratch_ , he sent.

“Stark, what kind of power source do you need?” Natasha asked.

“It doesn’t have to be very large,” Bruce explained after Stark had merely muttered something irritated and almost incomprehensible in reply. “We just need something powerful enough to bring the two halves of the bridge together and use up enough of the energy inside the containment field it so we don’t blow up half the town.”

“You need energy to use up energy?” Clint said, his tone edged with disbelief.

Stark snorted.  “It’s far more complicated than that,” he said.  “But in the most simplistic terms, yes.”

“And you can’t just ask the other scientists?” Steve asked.

“I am afraid I have already rendered them unconscious, Captain,” Thor said regretfully.  “They were attempting to escape.”

Tuning out the rest of the discussion, Phil walked over to where Clint still stood near the hole in the warehouse wall, making sure to run his hand reassuringly down Clint’s arm when he was close enough.  Not sure what he’d find, Phil peered inside the warehouse and felt his eyes drawn to the bridge device and the electricity that was still sparking all around it.  Jane was typing away hurriedly at one of the computers, muttering to herself, while Bruce had a panel open near where the device was sparking the most and was rewiring something inside.  Stark had removed the helmet and gauntlets from his suit and appeared to be using a spanner to mess with something right beside Bruce. Stretching out his  _other_  sense, Phil watched the two sections of pulsing blue bridge energy for a moment.

“What are you thinking?” Clint asked him in a low voice, pressing warmly against Phil’s shoulder.

Phil slid a glance and the hint of a smile towards Clint before he spoke.  “We essentially need something to force one half of the bridge to move enough that it touches the other, right?” he said.

“Um, yeah,” Jane said.  “Pretty much.”

“Only in sense that Lego is the world’s pinnacle of engineering,” Stark scoffed.

Phil arched an eyebrow at Clint.  “If I use the link to show you a target, do you think you could hit it?”

“Always,” Clint replied.  “I never miss, remember?”

There was no hint of uncertainty in Clint’s expression and Phil knew he meant it, even if it seemed like he’d barely paused to consider it before he answered.  “Just one problem with that idea,” Bruce said.  “An explosive arrow won’t be enough.  The energy needs to be channeled…”

“…to force one part of the bridge in a specific direction,” Phil finished for him.  “Yes, I know.  It’s not unlike constructing certain kinds of IEDs.”

“So how are you going to manage that?” Stark asked, still doing something to the side of the device.  “Will it to do what you want with the power of your mind?”  Stark stiffened, before he turned wide eyes on Phil.  “Oh, my God, that’s exactly what you’re going to do, isn’t it?”

Phil grimaced.  “It turns out my… abilities were less to do with proximity to the HYDRA device or Tesseract energy and more… a dormant part of my genetics.”

“Phil’s magic,” Clint translated with a grin.

“The Son of Coul is magic?” Thor boomed from the corner of the warehouse grinning broadly enough that it almost split his face in half.  “This wondrous news!”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Phil muttered.

“Seriously?” Stark said, still looking surprised.  “Magic?”

Letting out a long breath, Phil returned the billionaire’s stare.  He was reluctant to admit anything, not because he didn’t trust his team – and by now, they were very firmly  _his_  team – but more because he really just didn’t want to admit it out loud.  The fact that Phil had  _magic_  still sounded like something that had come out of a twisted fairytale.  Of course, so did getting stabbed by a deranged demigod and surviving. “Yes.  Seriously,” he said.

“Well, whatever you are going to do, you’d better do it quickly,” Jane said, turning away from the computers.  “We’re running out of time.”

Phil nodded as Clint stepped away and reached up his arm to pull an arrow out of his quiver, but Phil’s hand on his arm made him pause.  “Do you have any of those new explosive arrowheads R&D designed?” he asked.

Clint blinked once before he grinned madly.  “You mean the ones designed to take out entire armoured trucks?”

Smiling back, Phil nodded.  Clint had been trialing them just before this whole mess started and with any luck, the new arrowheads would still be in the quiver Stark had taken from SHIELD before he’d come to pick them up in Russia.  “Those would be the ones,” he agreed.

“Oh, yeah,” Clint said.  “Stark knows how to steal the good stuff.”

“You’re going to blow off your foot,” Natasha told both of them.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Bruce asked.

His doubts sounded like the ones hovering in the back of Phil’s mind; Phil hadn’t ever done anything _remotely_ like this before in his life and at this point Phil’s level of control over his magic was purely theoretical.  He just didn’t see any other options.  “No,” he answered Bruce.  “I think this is a very bad idea.  I just don’t think anybody’s got a better one.”

“We really don’t,” Stark agreed.

“If anyone can do this, Phil, it’s you,” Steve said softly.

Buoyed by the quiet faith from his childhood hero, Phil let out another slow breath and fixed his _other_ sense firmly in his mind.  Then he stretched out towards the link and let the warm, familiar presence of Clint grow and solidify.  He felt something inside him hitch and then smooth and then the link was wide open between them.  Instead of just sensing where Clint was and what he was doing, now Phil could _feel_ it.  He felt the strong muscles moving in Clint’s shoulder and arm as he drew an arrow from his quiver and felt the pull and stretch of the bow as Clint nocked the arrow into the string.  It was an incredible feeling and Phil had to struggle to keep his mind on the task and not let it drift.

He knew the second Clint let his own mind sink into the link because the archer’s breath stuttered and he gasped.  Only years of training and discipline allowed him to keep the arrow nocked on the string.  _Shit, Phil_ , Clint’s thoughts drifted against Phil’s, hesitant and unwilling to press too deeply.  Phil could understand and as much as he didn’t mind Clint reading any of his thoughts, he didn’t press.

_Is that_ really _what you see?_

_I…_ Phil began and then realized he could just _show_ Clint how his sensitivity to his magic allowed him to see the world.  It took only seconds for Clint to see what Phil did and together they studied the two pulsing section of bridge, searching for the exact angle to push one of the halves so it would meet the other.  With as close as he was to Clint, Phil found himself mapping the path of the energy in terms of trajectories and forces in a way he never had on his own.  The glimpse into how his archer’s mind worked was beautiful and Phil couldn’t help it when he sent the thought to Clint unbidden.

_Focus, Phil._

_Sorry._

_3…2…1…_

The arrow shot from Clint’s bow and just as it reached the precise point they needed, Clint pushed the manual trigger.  The arrowhead exploded, but Phil was ready for it.  Without even really thinking about it, Phil stretched out and willed the force of the explosion to push towards one side of the bridge.  His _other_ sense tingled and he could feel the rush of magic in the pit of his stomach, like goosebumps prickling his skin and the crackle of lightning in the air.  One side of the bridge began to burn a bright blue that was almost white as the explosion touched it, the force pushing it towards the other half and energy crackled all over its twisting surface.  The sensation wasn’t exactly painful, but it wasn’t pleasant either and Phil held on for as long as he could, _willing_ the bridge to connect.  Phil didn’t even dare to close his eyes when the light became almost blinding and finally, _finally_ the two reaching halves of the bridge touched.  Everything flashed white like a flash grenade had just exploded in Phil’s face right and the magic roared out of him and into the bridge, leaving Phil feeling empty and shaken.

“The bridge is…connected,” Jane said and Phil heard the faint tapping of a keyboard.

“Energy levels are decreasing,” Bruce reported.  “Shutdown protocols initiating in three… two… one…  And, the bridge has successfully shut down.”

There was a beat of silence.  “Well, that was rather anticlimactic,” Stark said.

“For you maybe,” Clint replied, his voice hoarse.

Phil finally blinked open eyes he hadn’t even realized he’d shut.  Straightening, he glanced around the inside of the warehouse, grateful that his _other_ sense had disappeared again.  Jane was still standing at the computers, watching both Phil and Clint curiously with wide eyes, Thor standing beside her with a remarkably similar expression on his face.  Bruce appeared to be checking over the device as if he was about to poke it to make sure it was turned off again.  Stark, on the other hand, was staring at the device with a faintly disappointed look on his face.  Phil was just relieved to see the device wasn’t sparking with energy anymore and there was no sign of the bridge.

Turning to Clint, Phil just watched the archer blink at him numbly for a moment, before he stepped forward and touched his forehead to Phil’s in a quiet moment of reassurance and comfort.  “Jesus, Phil.”

“Yeah,” Phil said, the echo of his magic still swimming through his veins like adrenaline and electricity and his voice just as hoarse as Clint’s had been.  “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

Natasha was looking at them both curiously.  “What did you see?” she asked.

“What did _you_ see?” Clint countered.

“Nothing,” Steve said glumly.

“Exactly,” Stark said.  “These things are supposed to involve fireworks and light shows, not a few shimmers and faint fizzle.”

Phil blinked tiredly as everyone continued to debate whether or not the lack of fireworks in shutting down the bridge was a good thing or not.  He didn’t know what exactly it was that he’d done with his magic, but he felt drained and exhausted in a way he hadn’t for a very long time.  He gratefully leaned into Clint when the other man carefully slipped Phil’s arm around his shoulders.  “Come on, Phil,” he said.  “Let’s get you a seat somewhere before you fall over.”

“Thanks,” Phil said.

He let Clint steer him outside and over to a pile of crates that were resting against a relatively undamaged part of the warehouse wall.  Phil wasn’t entirely sure that the crates would be able to support his weight, but he wasn’t given much choice about it when his legs suddenly decided to stop holding him upright.  He sank down appreciatively and leaned back against the metal wall behind him, his eyes slipping shut.  “Hey,” Clint said, nudging him.  “You should drink something.”

Blinking open his eyes, Phil wondered just how long he’d had them closed because somehow in the space between blinks, the Avengers and Jane had all gathered around him.  Stark was sprawled out in his armour on the ground, clanking slightly every time he moved.  Bruce was sitting next to him, half turned towards Jane, who sat on another crate and both of them absorbed in what sounded like a deeply scientific discussion.  Thor was sitting protectively on Jane’s other side and when the demigod spotted Phil looking at him, he grinned.  Steve was sitting on Stark’s other side with Natasha curled up gracefully beside him, both of them passing a water bottle between them.

Clint nudged Phil’s shoulder again from where he was sitting on the crate beside Phil.  He wiggled the water bottle in his hand.  “Drink,” he said.

“Thanks,” Phil said as he took it.

“So…” Bruce said, as silence fell over the team.  “I’m curious.  What exactly _is_ it that Clint’s supposed to be so good at?”

Clint gave a helpless laugh and turned to the scientist.  “After everything that’s happened in the last twenty minutes, or hell even in the last couple of days, _that’s_ what you’re curious about?”

“Yes,” Steve agreed and everyone turned to look at him.  “It’s like a riddle I can’t figure out.”

“Are you sure it’s not a sex thing?” Stark added.

Phil looked at Natasha, who was shaking with silent laughter.  “Cuddles,” she said.  “He thinks he’s good at them, but it’s like being attached to a limp octopus.”

“Traitor,” Clint muttered to Natasha.

“Huh,” Stark said.

Phil smiled slightly as he glanced around at his team, before he schooled his features into a deadpan expression.  “I can neither confirm nor deny the existence or status of Agent Barton’s cuddling ability,” he said as straight-faced as he could manage.

The team burst into laughter and smiles at his words and underneath the exhaustion and triumph at having beaten Anderson, he could hear the bone-deep sound of relief that everything was finally over.  Or at least, almost everything.  There will still members of Cerberus to deal with and Fury to find and SHIELD to get back, but for now, Phil was just grateful to live in the moment.

“I hate to bring it up,” Jane said when the laughter and smiles had faded.  “But how exactly are we getting out of Honduras?”

“Can anyone fly a helicopter?” Stark asked, before he waved his hand to his left.  Phil followed the motion and realized with a start that the helicopter Anderson’s team of mercenaries had arrived on was still sitting on the cracked concrete.

“I can,” Clint replied.

“Hey, guys,” Steve said suddenly, his hand reaching for his shield.  “There’s someone sitting on the chopper.”

“Is that..?” Stark began, incredulous.

Phil bit back a sigh when he recognized the figure sitting in the helicopter’s open doorway.  “I believe it is,” he said.

Unable to stop the smirk growing on his face, Phil climbed to his feet and headed towards the waiting helicopter.  One black boot negligently hanging down to rest on one of the skids, Fury looked for all the world like he’d been patiently waiting for hours.  In deference to the tropical heat, he wasn’t wearing his leather coat, but the rest of his black clothes melted into the shadows and Phil knew by the shark-like grin on Fury’s face that he’d staged everything to be as dramatic as possible.  “Nicely done, Avengers,” Fury said.

“Have you been sitting on that chopper the whole time, sir?” Steve asked, sounding more than a little frustrated.

“Yeah, can we have a conversation about how the hell you got here and where the hell you’ve been?” Stark demanded.

“No,” Fury replied, his smile slow and his gaze dangerous.  Then his eye flicked to Phil.  “Sitwell says you have a plan to neutralize Cerberus for good,” he said.

Phil could still feel the smirk curving the corner of his mouth.  “Sitwell says a lot of things,” he said.

“Phil…” Fury said, his eye narrowing.

“I only said I had an idea, not a plan,” Phil said.  Then he arched an eyebrow at Fury.  “Sitwell also said he wasn’t going to run any more messages for you, didn’t he?”

Fury sighed.  “Sitwell’s a mouthy little shit when he’s annoyed.”

“Well, there is a reason Hawkeye likes him so much,” Phil said dryly.

Clint grinned widely at the words and beside him, Natasha shrugged.  “I like him too.  He’s funny.”

Stark blinked and looked at Steve.  “Have you met this guy?” he asked.  “Have _I_ met this guy?  Why haven’t we met Agent Sitwell?”

Fury just looked at Phil.  “Is this idea of yours going to work?” he asked.

“I think it will, sir,” Phil replied.

“Well then,” Fury said, standing up.  “Barton, get this chopper warmed up.  We’ve got a group of bad guys to thwart and a covert organisation to steal back.”


	15. Chapter 15

Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly, before he straightened his shoulders.  Ignoring the tingling sensation running over his skin, Phil fixed his best poker face over his features, keeping his expression as impassive as possible.  Then, with a final brush at the jacket of his suit, he opened the door in front of him and stepped through.  The conference room beyond was unremarkable, undistinguishable from every other top-floor conference room Phil had ever been in, complete with large, floor to ceiling windows showing the New York skyline.  Seven men and one woman sat around a large black conference table, all dressed in business suits that cost more than a month of Phil’s wages.  Several men in cheaper suits were standing around the walls of the room, the earpieces marking them as security as much as their professionally blank expressions; although, if the bodyguards had been worth their price, they wouldn’t have allowed the secret members Cerberus to meet in a room with quite so many windows.

“Ah, Agent Anderson,” one of the men greeted.  “Thank you for joining us.”

“Sir,” Phil acknowledged calmly.  His voice was not his own, but he didn’t let any of the sense of strangeness at the alien sound show on his face.  It was hardly the first time Phil had ever gone undercover, it just that this time, thanks to his awakened magical ability, he now wore someone else’s face instead of his own.

To the rest of the room, Phil was Conrad Anderson, Agent of Cerberus.

“I assume you have a report to give us?” the man asked.  From the files Fury had given him, gathered by his ‘surveillance’, Phil knew the man was Richard Strickland, CEO of Strickland Holdings and according to Fury, the head of Cerberus.  Phil would almost be disappointed at how ordinary Strickland looked if he didn’t know that it was the ones that looked the most ordinary that were the most dangerous.

“Yes, I was under the impression you were supposed to be leading a team into Asgard, Agent,” another of the men asked.

Phil glanced at the man who’d spoken.  His mental files recognized him as Albert Wentworth, founder of Nordyne Security, a company which held several US defense contracts.  “There were some complications,” Phil said, playing to the script.  “Agent Coulson and the Avengers showed up as we were attempting to use the device.”

Wentworth sneered.  “That man and his team of pantomime characters are beginning to be more than a simple hindrance,” he snapped.

“Perhaps it is time for Cerberus to authorize a more permanent solution to the problem of Agents Coulson and Barton,” the woman suggested and Phil had to ignore the chill that went down his spine at the casual way she spoke those words.

“Agent Coulson will be dealt with in time,” Strickland said.  “Cerberus has control of SHIELD now.  When Agent Coulson and his pet archer surface again, they’ll be taken out.” Strickland paused and his cold, empty eyes glanced over at Phil.  “I assume your sniper can manage to finish the job this time?”

Only his years of experience helped Phil keep his emotions off his face as rage and fear churned through his stomach.  It took a lot of determination for Phil to stop himself from pulling out one of his many concealed weapons and killing Strickland where he was sitting, but Phil was a SHIELD agent.  He would keep his composure even face to face with the man that had threatened Clint and set him up for a murder he hadn’t committed, because to keep Clint and the rest of the Avengers safe, _all_ of Cerberus had to be dealt with once and for all.

“This also might be an opportunity for us eliminate another thorn in our side,” Wentworth said, saving Phil from replying to Strickland.  “So far, Director Fury has eluded all our attempts to find him and there are still those at SHIELD that are loyal to him.”

“What did you have in mind, sir?” Phil prompted, keeping as much anger out of his voice – or rather _Anderson’s_ voice – as he could.

“Agent Coulson is reported to be very loyal to his Director,” Wentworth said.  “He will no doubt attempt to find Fury.  Why don’t we simply take them all out at once?”

Strickland nodded.  “That seems reasonable,” he agreed.  “Now that we have control over SHIELD, we can start to put our other plans into motion as well.  Fury, Agent Coulson and the rest of their superheroes will soon cease to be a threat, regardless.”

For the first time since stepping to the room, Phil allowed himself to smile.  With a thought and a shiver that rolled across his skin, Phil dropped the magical mask he’d been wearing, allowing the members of Cerberus to see who they’d _really_ been talking to.  The various expressions of surprise and horror were extremely satisfying.  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Phil told Strickland mildly, happy to have his own voice back.

A second later, the door behind Phil was kicked open.  The bodyguards barely had time to react before Clint, Natasha and Steve stormed into the room.  Clint had his bow drawn and aimed straight at Strickland’s head as he moved to stand beside Phil, his expression hard and unrelenting.  Natasha and Steve looked equally impressive in their field suits as they moved to cover the other members of Cerberus.  A beat later, Thor and his hammer crashed through the skylight to land directly on the conference table and Stark used one of his repulsors to crash through one of the windows from where he’d been hovering outside the building.  Behind him, Phil heard Bruce, Maria Hill and a SHIELD team rush into the room.  Within seconds the bodyguards were disarmed and arrested and Maria gave Phil a sharp nod as the men were led out.

Phil felt his smile twist into a satisfied smirk as he held Strickland’s gaze.  He casually brushed dust off the sleeve of his jacket as Fury stepped up beside him with the dramatic swirl of his leather coat.  “Stark, did you get everything we need?” Fury asked.

Stark flipped up the faceplate of his suit, revealing a smug expression that didn’t quite reach the cold anger in his eyes.  “JARVIS and I recorded every word,” Stark replied.

“Excellent,” Fury said, turning his icy, shark-like smile on Strickland.  “I think, gentlemen, it’s time we had a conversation.”

“You can’t..!” Strickland spluttered, but Fury ruthlessly cut him off.

“Oh, I _can_ ,” Fury growled.  “You see, you made one fatal flaw in your machinations.  You pissed off the man standing next to me.”  Fury paused as he gestured casually at Phil.  “You really shouldn’t underestimate Agent Coulson.  He’s my right hand for a reason.  And now, thanks to him, I have in my possession more information than I could ever want about Cerberus and its activities.  I also have a group of very remarkable people that you’ve all managed to piss off.”

“So this is what’s going to happen,” Fury continued.  “Tomorrow morning, you’re all going to wake up to headlines airing all that dirty laundry you don’t want people to know.  Illegal financial dealings, political corruption… the fact that most of you have been sleeping with people you shouldn’t.  This information is going to be enough to cost all of you your companies and probably most of your private fortunes as well.  If you push me, I can use a recording of the conversation you just had to have you all locked away for life… or worse.”

Fury paused again to let his words sink in.  “I am, however, prepared to let you all continue breathing on one condition,” he said.  “I never hear even a _whisper_ about any of you ever again.  Because if I do, gentlemen, I will let the Avengers and Agent Coulson here do their worst.  And that’s something you really don’t want to see.”

His message delivered, Fury gave them a final sharp look, before turning and walking out of the room, leaving stunned silence in his wake.  One by one, the Avengers slowly followed him.  Bruce was the first to slip out, before Thor, who gave the members of Cerberus a dark glare, the scent of ozone thick in the air.  Steve and Stark left next, Steve pausing to touch the shoulder of Stark’s suit, before Stark slammed down his faceplate and clanked after him.  Natasha hesitated a moment, staring down the members of Cerberus with a terrifying expression, before she holstered her guns and slipped out of the room on silent feet.  Clint was the last to lower his weapon and turn to leave, his every movement so tightly controlled, Phil doubted there was anyone inside the room who doubted that Clint was only following his orders grudgingly.

He paused when he noticed Phil wasn’t following him, shooting Phil a glance filled with confusion and anger.  Phil sent him a few reassuring thoughts through the link and turned back to calmly stare down the horrified members of Cerberus still frozen in their seats.  “I’d heed the Director’s words, if I were you,” he told them, his tone almost casual if it wasn’t for the unyielding steel underneath.  “Because if you _ever_ threaten the continued health and well-being of the man I love again, there is no force in this world or any other than will prevent me from hunting you to the ends of the earth.”

Then Phil straightened his jacket and gave them one of his unassuming smiles.  “Thank you for your cooperation,” he added.

Turning, Phil fell into step with Clint as they walked out of the room.  Phil carefully made sure to brush the back of his hand against Clint’s as they walked, trying to reassure Clint as much as he could.  Clint’s movements were still too tightly controlled to be healthy and for once, Phil couldn’t feel any of his emotions spilling over the link.  As soon as they were outside the conference room and far enough away to not be heard, Phil turned towards Clint to say something, but he found himself shoved back into a wall before he could speak.  “You are such a fucking _badass_ ,” Clint breathed, his hands gripping Phil’s hips hard as he crowded into Phil’s space.

Phil was many things, but slow on the uptake wasn’t one of them.  “You’re not angry, are you?” he asked, sliding his own arms around Clint’s waist.

“Not anymore,” Clint agreed.  “I stopped being angry and started being really, _really_ turned on about the time you threatened to hunt those assholes to the ends of the earth.”

Clint leant forward, a devilish smile curving his mouth as he crowded even closer to Phil, pressing them together from knee to chest as he crashed his mouth to Phil’s.  Phil let out a low, rough moan as the kiss became a sudden assault of heat, heady and fierce.  He dragged Clint even closer and let himself sink into Clint’s strength as Clint’s hands slid up Phil’s sides underneath his jacket to fist in his shirt.  When they broke apart, chests heaving a little as they caught their breath, Phil let his forehead rest against Clint’s for a moment and when he straightened again, Phil let all of the love he felt filter through into his smile.  “Come on,” he said.  “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from saying a big THANK YOU to everyone who read this, I wanted to say that there will be a third part in this 'verse. I'm not entirely sure when it will be up, but it (hopefully!) won't be as plotty or long as these two have been. I wanted to write Phil and Clint something short and sweet because Phil and Clint finally deserve their wedding after everything they'd been through ;)


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